


A Crimson River

by Slytherkins



Series: Dark Creatures [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Violence, Bloodwolf, Creature Fic, Creature Harry Potter, Dark, Dark Creatures, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Harry Potter is So Done, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Mission Sex, Multi, Murder, POV Remus Lupin, POV Severus Snape, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Revenge, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome - M/M/M, Torture, Vampire Severus Snape, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 82
Words: 233,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherkins/pseuds/Slytherkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div>Final installment in the Dark Creatures trilogy.<p>Before Severus and Remus can pursue Harry into the unknown, they will have to reconcile the past; both Harry's and their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now Thou Turn'st Away Thy Face for Shame

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  ********Update********   
> 
> 
> The original chapter order of this fic has been changed. While it was in progress, readers expressed frustration at having to read through fully half the fic before the timeline caught up to the end of To Die Upon a Kiss. And while this was a perfectly valid criticism, I did not yet know how the fic would end. Once it was finished, I shuffled the chapters to introduce 'new' material earlier.
> 
> The original chapter order is listed at the end of the fic. I'm sorry for any confusion the reordering might have caused. 
> 
> ***Also, after some reflection, some chapters have been removed from the fic completely. Rather than delete them, I'll move them to the end, in case any of you would like to see that content.
> 
> ***I welcome constructive feedback! :) Honestly. If you have issues with the fic, let me know what they are.

**Before: Remus**

Remus refused to believe what he was seeing. He recognised the boy’s features, but it still didn’t seem possible. Of course, he knew about the spell and that it had broken at midnight. He knew how it functioned and why it had been placed. He thought he’d known what to expect.

He was wrong. So wrong. And now he was panicking because he knew he was meant to be interacting with the boy, but he could not yet manage it. He was so overwhelmed by the sight of him he could barely manage to breathe.

He felt shame wash over him. This was James’ _son_. Harry was sixteen for gods' sake! Remus was thirty-six. Not elderly by any means but still far, far too old to be feeling…

And for a _child_. Remus felt ill.

But Harry no longer looked like a child. Harry hardly looked like himself at all. It wasn’t simply that Remus was now allowed by the spell’s dissipation to appreciate him aesthetically, their recent loss seemed to have aged the young man. Harry had always had a serious bent, but much of his innocence seemed to have died with Sirius. There was a new maturity to the firm set of his finely shaped jaw and more wisdom in his brilliant green eyes.

Whatever the reasons for his unexpected reaction, Remus had to get a hold on himself. Harry had not yet noticed his presence in the shadows of the anteroom and was clearly apprehensive. He hadn’t known where he was heading when he touched the portkey, and Grimmauld Place had changed considerably since he’d last seen it, which was why Remus was there to greet him.

“Hello?”

The quaver in Harry’s voice spoke to his disquiet, and Remus felt a fool. He composed himself, stepping forward and laying a hand on the young man’s shoulder to reassure him. He startled the boy instead, but it was short-lived.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Remus whispered, somehow summoning a smile. The radiance of Harry’s answering one almost undid Remus completely. Surely the young man would not feel such happy relief if he knew what Remus was thinking, if he knew how badly the hand resting on the boy’s shoulder ached to move elsewhere. Remus’ self-control was embarrassingly lacking, and he tightened his grip against the temptation to stroke his palm down Harry’s arm.

"Thank you, Professor." 

"I think we're past formalities, Harry," said Remus, his voice tighter than he’d intended. “This isn't Hogwarts, and I'm no longer your professor, now am I?” he managed in a softer tone. “Call me Remus."

Harry nodded, and the man took half a second more to get a handle on his unseemly impulses before releasing him. Breaking the contact seemed to make it easier to breathe.

"We're still here, then?" Harry asked ruefully, finally recognising where he stood. Remus nodded, drawing his resolve from the musty shadows as his gaze swept, unseeing, across them. "Wasn't this a bit dangerous?" Harry asked, referring to the toy snitch displayed in his open palm. "I mean, what if Voldemort had intercepted the owl? Might have been a nasty surprise to find him here instead of me."

"The plan had its risks," Remus conceded with a small sigh, taking the snitch from him. "But we felt this was safer than transporting you here by broom again,” he explained, studying the toy to avoid lifting his eyes to Harry’s face lest he be unable to pull them away. “Besides, to anyone other than yourself, this would just have seemed a worthless plastic bauble, given by a very poor - or very cheap - friend." It had seemed an appropriate gift from the penniless werewolf. "It was keyed to you,” he went on, turning it in his fingers. He’d _have_ to look at the boy again, but not yet. “It was designed to activate at your touch and yours alone. A tricky bit of magic, but Professor Dumbledore does have a knack for these sorts of things."

"Dumbledore? Is he here?"

"Of course, he is," Remus replied as he returned the Snitch, careful to avoid any accidental brush of skin. "He's waiting for us in the kitchen. Come along, Harry," he said, weary already, and for none of the reasons he’d anticipated. "There are many things we need to discuss." 

Remus took a steadying breath as he strode down the hall. He felt his head clearing now that they were no longer so close in such a small space. Grimmauld Place yawned before them, and the heavy air had never seemed fresher.

Remus realised he was being inexcusably absurd. Sirius had been lost scarcely eight weeks ago. Was Remus’ affection really so fickle?

But then, he’d realised before now that the two of them hadn’t really been in love. They had cared deeply for one another, and with the exception of Harry, there had been no one more important to the werewolf in all the world. He and Sirius had shared an unbreakable bond, an unspeakable past, and an inexhaustible fondness; but not necessarily a strong romance. Their physical relationship had been a natural growth between two so lonely, two for whom there could be no others.

Sirius, perhaps, had not felt the same, but then he had had eyes for the lycanthrope since they were children. Remus strongly suspected it had even influenced his animagus form. Sirius had worked his way through a legion girls trying to deny it - even to himself - but the discovery of Firewhisky at fifteen had led to drunken confessions and clumsy kisses that Remus wasn’t certain the young aristocrat even remembered the next morning. He hadn’t acted as if he did, which was just as well to Remus, because Remus’ heart had belonged already to another: a dark-haired, bespectacled rake who was taken from Remus, without ever knowing about the young man’s feelings for him, just a year after Harry had been born.

And now his doppelganger followed Remus through the haunted halls of Black Manor.

Remus was startled from this reflection by a clattering noise behind him, followed by the sound of a body striking the floor, and he was momentarily terrified that something had happened while he had been distracted by inappropriate thoughts. Then he recalled, almost instantly, where they were and that there were no threats here.

He spun toward the commotion, baffled nonetheless, to find Harry on the floor. On his knees.

Holy Hell. _On his bloody knees_ , face upturned, his mother’s eyes staring widely and his father’s lips hanging open in anticipation of...something. Remus couldn’t work out what was happening. His brain was momentarily unable to function at all as they stared at each other.

“She didn’t scream,” said Harry finally.

It took half a moment more for Remus to banish the completely sinful but equally unbidden fantasy the scene evoked.

“Ah,” he said shakily. Remus noticed the toy Snitch clutched in Harry’s hand. It all made sense now. He’d dropped it.

How many times had Tonks tripped over the umbrella stand that used to sit just here at the banister? And how often had Harry himself joined the battle against the shrew whose painting once hung in this spot? He’d not been here since Remus had removed her. The man gestured to the soot-stained wall beside him, and he and Harry both regarded it.

As much as they needed a safe headquarters, Remus couldn’t help but feel it a shame that the blaze he’d started when he’d burned the bitch from the wall hadn’t taken the rest of the miserable house with it. Thankfully, the memory reminded him of his grief and what it had led him to do, and Remus' lingering contempt for the woman who had so mistreated one of his dearest friends helped distract him from the other confusing emotions elicited by Harry’s appearance.

"Don't fret about making a bit of noise," he said with a twist of his lips. "She'll not be bothering us ever again."

But Harry was still on his knees, and Remus decided against helping him to his feet. He turned toward the kitchen, going on ahead to allow himself an opportunity to finish untangling his impulses and leaving the boy to pick himself up.

Remus nodded to Albus as he entered the kitchen and stationed himself at the head of the table to wait for Harry to appear.

“Any news?” the Headmaster asked anxiously, noticing Remus’ grim expression.

Remus shook his head. Harry had volunteered nothing and Remus hadn’t had the presence of mind to ask. Not that he’d be explaining why to Albus.

“I don’t think he knows,” said Remus. “Let’s not ruin his birthday.”

“I agree,” Albus murmured.

Harry would have to be told, and soon, that his pet had preceded him to Grimmauld Place. She looked unlikely to survive. Perhaps they should tell him, let him spend her last moments with her, provided she hadn’t already passed while Harry and Remus had been in the hallway. Molly was comforting the poor thing already, though, and they simply didn’t have the heart to deliver such bad news on a special day that would already hold enough shock and disappointment; that is, if Remus knew anything about the boy’s attitude toward his Potions Master. Why did that sad bastard have to be the only person skilled enough in Legilimency to teach the young man?

The Headmaster’s whole demeanour changed the instant Harry walked through the door, looking pleased as he chased the scent of Lunch. The young man licked his lips when he found it bubbling on the hearth, but Albus was on a schedule.

"I see you have arrived safely," he said with an effortless smile, pointing Harry to a seat directly across from him. "Very good. You are welcome to whatever you may find...afterwards," Albus assured him when Harry’s attention refused to stray from the steaming cauldron. "Molly has been so kind as to leave the stew on for you. Right now, however, I feel we need your full attention."

As they took their seats, Harry's stomach growled loudly.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but that may be impossible with Mrs. Weasley's cooking so close by," Harry said with a shy, endearing grin that made Remus’ stomach flutter. Albus' eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Indeed," he chuckled, steepling his fingers on the table before him. "But there are a few things we must get out of the way before we feast.” The old man became more sombre. "How have you been Harry?" he asked quietly.

Harry swallowed and cleared his throat, looking sheepishly between the two of them, but his voice suddenly eluded him, so he merely nodded.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," he was finally able to croak. Albus nodded his sad understanding, and Remus’ heart ached for the young man. Now was his cue to comfort him, to reach over and soothe his melancholy with a friendly touch. Sadly, he still didn’t dare.

"Harry, has anything odd happened lately? Anything at all you wish to share with us?"

"You mean besides that the Dursley's are acting like human beings?" Harry asked, earning him a smile from the Headmaster.

Remus breathed a sigh of relief. They still didn’t know what recent events foreshadowed, but luckily, it didn’t seem to yet touch the boy. Unburdened days were few for the young man. Hopefully, today would be at least one more.

"Nothing I can think of," Harry shrugged. Albus glanced to Remus, clearly sharing his relief.

"Alright," he said. "Now, since I believe Remus here has some other business to attend to, I think firstly we should discuss the matter of Sirius' will and your inheritance." Albus had decided that he preferred to speak to Harry alone, particularly to break the news to him about his resumption of Occlumency with Severus, and so they had agreed that Remus would to travel to Surrey to collect Harry’s things while the Headmaster finished their meeting. "As I'm sure you know, Sirius was the last remaining member of the Black family to bear that name. However, because of his long imprisonment, much of the Black fortune has either been seized by the Ministry or redistributed among his many relatives."

The injustice of it ate at the pit of Remus’ stomach for the umpteenth time. He could tell it irked Harry, as well.

"As a result," Albus continued, "Sirius' holdings were few. Among them, however, is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, which was likely overlooked, or ignored, due to its apparent abandonment."

"I've inherited Order headquarters?" Harry blinked.

"Well, not exactly," Albus corrected. "For so long as the Order has need of it, or until you leave Hogwarts, whichever comes last, the deed will be held by Remus here. Which brings me to the next matter, the matter of your guardianship."

Remus saw Harry look over at him from the corner of his eye, but the man was still summoning his self-control and so kept his attention turned to Albus.

“Granted, you are, as of today, in fact, sixteen and have reached the age of consent by Wizarding standards...”

Remus saw his lips moving, but he did not hear the Headmaster’s next few sentences. The last one he’d spoken echoed deafeningly in the werewolf’s mind, and the timing of the revelation was less than convenient.

 _The glamour had expired because Harry had reached the age of consent,_ the age where Harry was legally permitted to be physically intimate with whoever he chose so long as that person was also of legal age.

It was immaterial. The spell had been cast in the first place in order to safeguard Harry’s innocence, and nothing in all the world could persuade the man to endanger that. Still, Remus’ mouth went suddenly dry.

"However, while you still attend school, any question or decision that might arise concerning your well-being shall now be directed to Remus, as necessity dictates."

Remus woke at the sound of his name and dragged his attention back to the present, finally steeling himself to meet Harry's eye. It was well past time for him to pull himself together and act like the responsible adult he was expected to be, that he’d volunteered to be.

"Sirius asked me long ago if I might take over his responsibilities as your godfather should anything ever happen to him," he told Harry, his tender thoughts of the man making it easier to speak to the boy. "To which I readily agreed."

The affection in Harry’s expression was returned, and not in the vile and lecherous way Remus had been battling since the young man had arrived, simply in the paternal sense he’d felt for the boy since he’d first set eyes on him sixteen years ago to the day.

"Brilliant," Harry said in response to the pronouncement.

"Thank you for trusting me, Harry," Remus said softly, hoping that trust was not misplaced, resolving that it would not be.

He _would_ master himself, and he’d fulfil his new duties to the best of his ability. Harry had gone too long without a guiding hand.

After that, Remus excused himself, trying not to seem eager to escape the young man’s presence but feeling relief to be doing so. And gratitude that it would be just for a little while.


	2. Oblivion and Hateful Griefs

**Before: Severus**

Travelling to Grimmauld Place was a pain in the arse. Especially at midday, Severus reflected irritably. But if Albus was determined, despite Severus’ vehement objections, to drag Loraina out of the woods and drop her into a castle teeming with virgin blood, then Severus needed to start her on Substisanguinus now. Which meant he’d have to double his output. And he couldn’t do that until Albus approved the invoice for additional lobalug venom.  

 _Doubling his bloody output_. He fumed. As if it were such a simple matter. As if this school year wasn’t going to be full enough already.

The Dark Lord was demanding increasing amounts of his time now that his plans could finally move forward, and Severus did not dare to be unaccommodating, especially if he wanted to be kept abreast of those plans and convey them to the Headmaster; not to mention Severus’ fondness for continued breathing.

He was a double _bloody_ agent, for fuck’s sake. He was Head of House. He taught a core subject that required mentoring of both O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students. He had to spend extra time in the lab to support a werewolf and now two vampires on top of keeping the infirmary stores stocked. He would have to keep a weather eye on his thoroughly insane ex-lover as no one else seemed to comprehend the utter foolishness of inviting the woman to interact with children. And to ice the shit-cake he was perpetually forced to eat, he now would also be required to attempt, yet again, to force some understanding of a very delicate and elusive area of magic into the thick skull of Saviour Potter-Spawn, despite that he’d so thoroughly and inexcusably violated the man’s small amount of privacy the last time.

It was enough to drive a person to atrocities. Albus asked too much, dangling his guilt and his Dark Mark over his head in order to justify his impositions as if a single bloody mistake fresh out of Hogwarts merited a lifetime of death-defying labour in punishment. If Potter’s proficiency in Occlumency was not vital to safeguarding the secret of Loraina’s presence, and so also both their lives, Severus would have refused.

Still, he thought to himself as he strode peevishly down the hall of Grimmauld Place, the boy had one chance. _One_. And if he stretched _one toe_ out of line-

 _Just. Bloody. Perfect_.

Severus had thrown open the door to the kitchen to find the insufferable brat in question seated at the table opposite Albus. Something about the sight of him arrested Severus’ breathing and muddled his thoughts. Severus put it down to his utter distaste for the young man and the unexpected shock of suddenly being faced with him without the benefit of mastering his disgust beforehand.

At least it was mutual, Severus thought on seeing the violence of the boy’s expression when he turned to him. The Potions Master occasionally had those students who, despite his sincere effort to discourage it and for reasons the professor would never be able to comprehend, took a liking to him and would haunt his office door and try to catch his eye at the staff table. _Thank the gods_ Potter would never be one of them.

"Snape," the boy muttered under his breath.

" _Professor_ Snape," Albus reminded him quietly but firmly. Severus was pleased by the correction. He’d informed Albus he expected at least a show of respect from the little shit. "Severus, what excellent timing. Come in and have a seat," said Albus, turning to him.

The man must be mad. Despite ample evidence to the contrary, Severus was not, in fact, a masochist, and he could think of few things more torturous than sitting down for a nice chat with the Headmaster and Saint Potter. He raised an eyebrow to express his disinclination.

Apparently unaffected by the flat out refusal of his invitation, Albus elaborated, "I was just about to inform Harry here that he is to resume his Occlumency lessons with you tomorrow."

" _What?_ " Potter blurted. (Quite rudely if you asked Severus.) So he hadn’t been aware. "I thought _you_ would be teaching me Occlumency. What was all that talk about playing too distant a role?" he demanded. If Severus were the Headmaster, he’d be sorely tempted to slap some manners into the boy.

"Harry," said Albus in a measured tone, "this is exactly what I had been working toward telling you. Though I have been far too distant, and though I hope to become much more involved with your affair, as always, I have your best interest in mind, and in this matter, we think it best that you continue to study Occlumency with Professor Snape."

"We?"

Potter looked incredulously from the Headmaster to the Potions Master. Severus smirked at his struggle to make peace with the news. If Severus had to accept the situation despite his loathing, it was only fitting the boy should suffer as well. 

"I can't see how this is in my best interest," Potter muttered, looking pointedly at Severus. "What if he just decides to abandon me again?"

Severus’ entire body seemed to contract. It was taking every ounce of willpower he had to keep from strangling the boy then and there. How dare he! After the magnitude of his trespass, he presumed to lay the blame on _Severus?_

The little bastard pulled a satisfied smirk of his own at the Potions Master’s temporary lapse in control, and Severus very vividly imagined murdering the boy.

"Do you _see_ what I endure, Albus?" he hissed as he and Potter glared daggers at each other. Fortunately, the Headmaster intervened before Severus could succumb to the impulse to draw his wand.

"Professor Snape and I have discussed the events of last term," he said, trying unsuccessfully to draw Potter’s attention away from Severus. "What happened was indeed unfortunate. But he has been gracious enough to overlook it and is willing to continue your lessons together on the condition that you apply yourself to his teaching."

Potter gaped disbelievingly at the Headmaster. He was beside himself.

"Gracious enough to-...apply myself-...But it was _him_ that threw _me_ out!" he finally managed to sputter.

"I'm afraid I cannot be swayed in this, Harry," Albus said with an air of finality. Potter was undeterred.

"But why can't you teach me? Or _anyone_ else?"

"Harry, there is no one else. Even if I had the time to devote to your daily teaching, I still do not believe my tutelage would be as conducive-"

"But he _hates_ me!" the boy interrupted.

"Exactly, Potter," said Severus, deciding it was time to inject some perspective into the matter. The boy shuddered and turned to glower at him.

" _Mister_ Potter," Albus gently corrected.

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ Severus curled his lip and continued.

"Whoever might attempt to use Legilimency against you, _Mister_ Potter, will very likely _not_ like you. The attack will be neither gentle nor pleasant. It will be a sudden and savage rape of your subconscious in search of your most painful memories. Albus, we feel, has neither the heart nor the ability to train you properly."

"Oh. So, he isn't a cruel and sadistic bastard, and you are?" Potter sneered.

 _A cruel and sadistic bastard who won’t always have to play nice in front of the Headmaster_ , Severus thought with a small, satisfied smile. At least there was that consolation. The foolish boy never took his concerns to anyone, especially when he should. His failure to report The Umbitch’s use of a Black Quill to Minerva last term was evidence enough of that.

"I would not have put it in quite that way," Albus said now, not at all pleased, "but that is the gist of the matter."

Potter looked from one to the other, finally crossing his arms and heaving an exasperated though defeated sigh. Severus wanted to find some enjoyment in it, but he was feeling much the same himself.

"I think I have had quite enough of this discussion, Headmaster," said Severus. "At your convenience, however, I do need a word with you."

Albus nodded and waved his understanding, and thankfully Severus was allowed to make his escape.

 _Brilliant_ , he thought to himself as he stepped off the doorstep and Apparated to Hogsmeade. _The next few weeks should be just_ fucking _delightful._


	3. And Maintain Such a Quarrel Openly

**Before: Severus**

“Severus,” a sleepy looking Mrs. Weasley greeted him coolly as he stepped into the kitchen the next morning. He was not her favourite person, nor she his, but soldiers cannot be choosy in their company.

“Molly,” he nodded in reply. “You’re up early.”

“Making Harry a bit of breakfast before I fetch him,” she explained, building a plate before setting it at the near end of the kitchen table.

Severus eyed it covetously. Rumor had it Molly was an excellent cook, and breakfast had always been Severus’ favorite meal, back when he took them. He occasionally ventured it still. He’d been taking Substisanguinus long enough that his body did not reject most foods any longer. But his digestive tract seemed to resent being roused, and nothing was ever palatable. He sometimes would simply take a bite or two of ham and eggs, though, pretending it tasted juicy and savory and not like chewing gelatinous dust and wet cardboard. It had been so long, the man wasn’t even certain he was imagining it correctly.

“You look tired,” Severus noted. “I’ll wake him myself in a moment. Why don’t you go on back to bed?” he offered. She looked grudgingly grateful, as if she didn’t like Severus giving her reason not to dislike him.

“You’d think I’d be used to feeding an army,” she commented with a weary shrug, removing her apron. “But then, we always had a strict schedule around the Burrow. These arbitrary comings and goings about run me ragged.”

Severus nodded his understanding as he took a seat at the far end of the table, trying to prepare himself for the trial to come. Molly, however, hesitated to take her leave, and it made Severus apprehensive. He did not exactly dislike the woman, but he wasn’t particularly fond, either. She could be overbearing. But besides his doubting the wisdom of their fervor for procreation, the Weasleys seemed decent enough. For Gryffindors, that is. Pity the whole batch couldn’t have been like Percy. The boy had been a model student. The same could not be said of the youngest two. And the twins had veritably given the Potions Master conniptions.

“Did you have something on your mind, Molly?” Severus prompted, growing irritated by the stern scowl she was giving him. As if waiting for the invitation, she drew herself up.

“I was just thinking that Harry could use a bit more kindness and understanding at the moment and far less…” Seeming at a loss for words, she waved her hand, gesturing to the length of Severus’ seated form. He sighed.

“What, exactly, are you implying?”  

“Just that you aren’t rosiest of persons. Harry’s got some shocks coming, Severus Snape. He doesn’t need you making his life any harder than it already is,” she scolded, wagging her finger at him as if he were one of her disobedient offspring. Somehow, the woman often succeeded in making Severus feel he was just that. He tossed her a resentful glance and adjusted his robes almost poutily.

“My treatment of the boy is a direct reflection of his behaviour,” he insisted. “Should he manage to remain respectful, then so shall I,” Severus explained as civilly as he could.

“I think you can manage a great deal more than you attempt,” she replied, eyebrows lifted and lips pursed. “I don’t want to hear you’ve given my boy a hard time, now,” she informed him matter-of-factly, waiting for his exasperated nod of acknowledgment before returning a satisfied one and turning toward the door.

“I made extra if you’re hungry, by the way,” she tossed out casually as she was crossing the threshold into the hall. Severus grumbled at her back as it disappeared up the stairs. Though his condition had not been divulged to most of the Order, he thought the woman more than half suspected what he was and was simply trying to irritate him. No doubt she considered anyone who declined her cooking to be suffering from _some_ sort of dire ailment. Regardless of whether it was intentional, she had certainly succeeded in riling him. And it wasn’t just the mention of food.

He was so bloody tired of hearing how difficult life was for the Boy Who Lived, especially when Severus was the one who spent most of his spare time catering to the whimsy of a tyrannical, Unforgivable-loving madman. Potter would be dead now many times over if it hadn’t been for Severus. But saving the brat’s life wasn’t enough, apparently. _No,_  Severus had to make it ‘rosy’, as well. He sneered. Hell would freeze over before he placed Harry Potter’s bloody _comfort_ as a priority, particularly above his own. Severus had more important things to worry about than humoring an impetuous teenager.

He wasn’t certain if the boy was summoned by his thoughts or if Severus simply thought of the wretch too often and it occurred by coincidence, but Potter took that moment to stumble into the kitchen looking groggy, idly scratching his side while he searched out the smell of breakfast.

Good gods. Did the boy even _own_ a comb? Severus didn’t spend much time on his own appearance, but he did at least possess a hair brush which he used daily. The boy probably thought his disheveled hair made him look ‘cool’. James could never keep his hands out of his bloody hair, either, always tousling it whenever he thought Evans was looking. How disgustingly like his father he was.

"What a surprise," Severus smirked, startling the boy who had not yet noticed his presence. "Eager to begin are we?" Potter’s expression perfectly reflected Severus’ own lack of enthusiasm for present company. "I was just about to rouse you," he informed him. Severus was fairly sure he didn’t imagine the boy’s shudder.

"We're to begin so early?" Potter complained through a yawn as he wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes.

"The sooner the better," Severus answered. "We do not have an unlimited window of opportunity. The Dark Lord is eager to do away with you and, at your rate of comprehension, it will be a miracle if you survive until Christmas. It is indeed unfortunate that you require such time-consuming distractions as sleeping and eating, so let's get that out of the way so we can begin, shall we?" Severus finished, nodding to the plate on the table in front of the boy.

"Funny," Potter muttered. "Suddenly, I'm not quite so hungry anymore."

Severus ground his teeth, feeling as if it were already the most trying morning ever.

"I did not ask if you were hungry," he replied. "I told you to eat. You need your strength. Though, I doubt the entire contents of the cupboard would be sufficient, considering," he sneered. As he said it, Severus looked the boy up and down. But he’d remembered him looking far more...scrawny. Not so...filled out and...

It didn’t bloody matter, Severus thought irritably.

"And I thought I made it quite clear last term how you were to address me, _Mister_  Potter," he huffed.

Potter seemed to be biting back a retort as he plopped down in front of his plate and began shovelling food into his face. Damned ungrateful creature. He was showing the meal no respect.

"I see those Muggles you live with failed to teach you anything in the way of manners," Severus remarked disgustedly. "Though I sympathise, as I myself find it very difficult to teach you anything at all."

"You told me to eat, _Sir_ ," Potter slurred, intentionally through a mouthful of bacon, making Severus once again contemplate violence. It would do no good to start bickering so early in their ordeal, however, and the boy had already turned his attention away from Severus and to his eggs.

 _Eggs,_ Severus thought with longing. His mouth practically watered watching them disappear between Potter’s unappreciative lips. Severus’ mother had made the _best_ eggs. He’d seen so little of her when he was a child. She had worked such long hours supporting him and his deadbeat father, but she had made a special effort to make him breakfast whenever possible. She would sip her coffee and hang on Severus’ every word between bites as he chatted delightedly, cherishing her presence and her attention before she would rush off to work leaving Severus all alone with his miserable, neglectful, bad tempered, Muggle-

“Do you have to watch every bite?" Potter asked peevishly, waking him to the present. "I promise I'm not hiding them down my jumper."

Severus started, flustered to realise he’d lapsed into worthless nostalgia. Over bloody eggs.

"Hurry up," he snarled, rearranging the sleeves of his robes as if they suddenly irked him. Potter threw him a suspicious look through his fringe but did as he was told. Finally, he pushed his empty plate back and downed his orange juice, setting the empty cup down with a bang.

"Quite finished?" Severus asked, eyebrow raised as the boy glowered at him.

"Quite," Potter replied, smacking of sarcastic politeness. The little shit.

"Good," Severus muttered.

He led Potter to an unused room on the topmost floor, far from where the rest of the house slept, so he could berate the boy as loudly as necessary without Molly overhearing. He was sure to receive a bad report from the boy regardless, but he preferred Molly not hear the alleged mistreatment firsthand. Plausible deniability and all that. He held the door open for the boy before closing it soundly behind them and sweeping further inside the room, turning when he reached its centre. Seeing Severus’ wand already in hand, Potter scrambled for his own.

"Relax, Mister Potter," Severus said, his lip curling. "I have come to the conclusion that my previous method might not have been the most efficient," he reluctantly conceded. The boy tried to do as he was told, lowering his wand but finding it difficult to loosen his death-grip on it. "Now, I realise you've slept since,” Severus said with a withered sigh, “but do you, by any chance, remember how to prepare yourself for a Legilimency attack?" 

"Clear my mind. Let go of emotion," Potter said shortly.

"Very good," Severus said with feigned admiration. "At this rate, you may yet live to see Easter."

Potter seethed, every muscle clenched in a seeming effort not to say something he'd regret. There was no subtlety to the boy at all. His every emotion was always screamed unambiguously through his body language. He wouldn’t survive a day as a spy. Severus eyed him coldly.

"This is impossible," he muttered to himself, turning his back on the boy. He put away his wand and found a chair among the sheeted furnishings. Potter shuffled as if not knowing what to do with himself. Regarding him, Severus wasn’t sure what to do with him, either.

"You realise, Mister Potter, that should the Dark Lord attempt Legilimency, you will not be warned beforehand and so will not be given the opportunity to prepare. We will still practice the spell but, in addition, you must learn to achieve the desired state of mind instantly and at will,” he explained. “Starting today, I'd like you to perform daily meditation. Though what is desired here is not exactly relaxation, meditation will strengthen your discipline of mind." 

Discipline.

Severus snorted. Harry Potter learn any form of discipline? They were all doomed.

"Meditation?" Potter asked sceptically. Severus glared at him until he remembered himself. "Sir?" he added quickly. Severus took a calming breath and answered.

"Yes, meditation,” he drawled. “I realise you may not be extremely world savvy, but surely you know what meditation is, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Potter replied tersely.

"Bravo," Severus said dryly. "As it comes naturally to me I cannot, nor do I care to, instruct you on the process. Though, I'm sure you can alert Miss Granger to your need,” he sneered. As if the boy might fail to. Severus sometimes wondered if the rest of the trio weren’t somehow eavesdropping at all times. Just as well. Granger certainly had far more sense than Potter, and _someone_ had to act as his brain as the boy seemed to lack the organ. “No doubt, if she isn't already as well versed in this as she is every other subject under the sun, it should be no problem for her to procure the necessary information."

"You want me to involve Hermione in this? Sir? I thought I was supposed to keep this all a secret, pretend I'm taking _remedial potions?_ " Potter cheeked.

"I did not tell you to inform her _why_ you were meditating, only that you shall be and require her assistance," said Severus. "Though, contrary to what you may believe, I am not an imbecile, Mister Potter, and know perfectly well that you share everything with Granger and Weasley...as unwise as that may be. Though it seems you have no qualms about endangering the lives of those around you out of your selfish craving for pity and attention." Severus watched as offence washed over the boy. He scowled at Severus as if debating on whether to voice it. Predictably, he decided he should.

"How dare you!"

"Propriety, Mister Potter," Severus reminded him. If the boy was going to be so reckless, he had no business being tetchy when more responsible persons pointed out his foolishness.

"Bugger propriety!" Potter spat. Severus' eyes narrowed and glinted dangerously, warning the boy not to take his insolence too far, but Potter wasn't deterred. "You don't know anything about me, and I'm sick of your assumptions. I'm sick of the way you treat me because of them."

For a moment, the irony of the statement robbed Severus of words, and he simply scowled at the boy. Assumptions? _Assumptions?_ Oh, to be sixteen and so absolutely confident of the lack of understanding in others and completely oblivious to one’s own.

"I know enough," Severus replied finally, his voice bitter, "have _seen_ enough to recognise your total disregard for caution, consideration, common sense, and the well-being of those around you. Like father like son," he finished in a low hiss.

"I am _not_ my bloody father! Don't you _get_ that?!" Potter bellowed. His temper really was becoming unacceptable, and Severus, for one, had had enough of it. He rose swiftly to his feet.

"I cannot believe the fate of the world rests in the hands of an impertinent child!"

"I am not a child!" Potter whined, sounding very childish indeed. Did the boy possess no self-awareness whatsoever?

"Dumbledore is a fool,” Severus muttered darkly. “He's been far too free with you, allowing you to run amok unchecked. Even after everything that has happened, you still don't seem to comprehend that your impulsive behaviour may bear consequences other than you intend." Severus was standing menacingly over him now, so aggravated at the boy he didn’t mark actually approaching him. "It takes a veritable army of us to chase along behind you, trying to keep you from killing yourself!”

If the boy only _knew_ the difficult position his actions routinely put Severus in with the Dark Lord; forcing him to come to Potter’s rescue time and again, and in doing so increasing the danger of his true allegiance being discovered. It was as if the boy considered it all a game. Severus was tired of risking his life to compensate for Potter’s lack of foresight.

“I shudder to think how many more lives will be lost on your account."

The boy flinched. The comment had wounded.

"It _wasn't_ my fault that my parents...that Cedric..." Potter croaked, his voice proving fickle as he appeared to be fighting tears.  _Of course,_ those would be the examples he chose.

"I suppose what happened to your travesty of a godfather has simply slipped your mind," Severus spat through gritted teeth. He saw defiance flash in the boy’s eyes.

"You can't blame me for Sirius!" Potter cried desperately, shoving at Severus who had come to lower menacingly only inches from him.

"Oh, can't I?" Severus said coldly, effortlessly resisting the boy’s efforts to expel him. Someone _had_ to make him understand the seriousness of the matter. And as with most seemingly impossible things, the task apparently fell to Severus.

"Voldemort," Potter squeaked, short of breath as if he physically fought understanding as frantically as he fought Severus’ proximity. "He-"

"Did not intend or even wish Black's physical presence at the Ministry that night," Severus returned, growing more and more incensed at the boy’s resistance to reason. Potter stopped struggling to budge the man and glared at Severus instead, anger replacing desperation.

"If _you_ hadn't goaded him,” he accused. “If you hadn't thrown a fit about the Pensieve and stopped giving me my lessons..."

Severus looked down at him icily, suddenly very calm. Much as he had hated the insufferable arsehole, he refused to be blamed for his death.

"Your godfather was a grown man, Mister Potter, though he rarely behaved as one. Still, he had enough sense to understand the danger of his situation. That he decided to risk his life to save yours was his prerogative. Despite my 'goading', he refrained from leaving this house until the day he died. And at that time, considering your immediate peril, I _assure_ you, no amount of pleading on my part - nothing short of a _full body binding_ spell - would have kept him here."

Potter had backed away from Severus until he was pressed flat against the wall behind him. He was shaking so badly, he might have collapsed if he hadn't. Severus felt a small twinge of guilt seeing the pain in his eyes. But this had to be done. Everyone else always handled the boy with kid gloves. Perhaps this was simply what it would take to get him to finally accept responsibility for his own actions. And it was imperative that he began to do just that, because the stakes had never been higher. The Dark Lord had returned. Had returned and had been revealed to the world and so had nothing to lose by charging full steam toward the goal of Potter’s demise. It would be one thing if his was the only life at risk, but when Potter fell, he’d take the rest of them down with him. Severus hardened himself against the boy’s helpless expression and prepared to drive his point home.

"As far as your Occlumency lessons are concerned," he continued, "if you had made the slightest effort to cooperate, I might have reacted differently. I _might_ have called you back after I'd had time to calm myself. But it was apparent to me my efforts were in vain. I could have spent every waking moment attempting to teach you Occlumency, but as you _welcomed_ the Dark Lord's bait, it would have been utterly futile."

He seemed to be getting through. Potter’s expression turned less pitiful, and his building resentment blasted toward the man with each heaving breath. It was heartening.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter," Severus said now, completely unapologetic, "but you can no longer live under these self-delusions. We simply cannot afford it. We don't have time for your self-pity. I won't pretend to believe a word of, or to give a damn about, what that ridiculous prophecy has to say. But that doesn't matter. What is important is the Dark Lord _does_ believe it. And the longer we keep you alive, the more time we buy. The longer we have to derail him before he launches an earnest attack. The truth is," he said, his voice dropping to an ominous whisper as he leaned in closer to Potter, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He told himself this cruelty was necessary, that this pain would end up saving the boy’s life. "You provide a very valuable distraction, Mister Potter. And. Nothing. More."

Severus saw the comment break through the boy’s vehement denial. He watched as Potter’s resentment crystallised. Severus recognised the bitter resignation the boy must be tasting. It was a shame. He was still so young. But then so had Severus been when his own innocence had finally been obliterated. It had been a jagged pill to swallow, but it had kept the man alive through all else he’d been forced to endure. With any luck, this would do the same for Potter.

The boy straightened and squared his shoulders, looking Severus dead in the eye.

"You're a bastard," he said calmly. Severus was impressed with the boy’s new self-possession but still reflected Potter's distaste back at him.

"And you are an arrogant, ungrateful, incompetent, reckless, and insufferable prat," he replied in the same even tone. The boy did not reply. They seemed to finally be getting somewhere. "Now, are you quite ready to get on with it?"

Potter nodded and Severus took several steps back, not bothering to count down before he uttered an impassioned _Legilimens!_

For once, the boy seemed to be ready for it. He struggled for a moment, but he never broke eye contact with Severus, and after only a moment's disorientation, Potter was able to cast a disarming spell. Severus' wand went flying out of his hand and over his head. Potter was bent double, but he still held his wand, and he was still standing. He lifted a triumphant gaze to Severus, and the man eyed him critically.

"Bravo," he whispered, stone-faced. And for once, the comment was sincere.

       


	4. This is the Tragic Tale

**Before: Remus**

Remus was exhausted. He’d been in Surrey for two days with Kingsley, in the background trying to be unobtrusive as the Ministry scrambled to sort the nightmare playing out around the Dursley home. Kingsley dealt with the Muggle law enforcement with Remus left, for the most part, to communicate with Harry’s relatives.

Properly meeting Lily’s sister had been surreal. Remus saw nothing of the girl he knew in this woman. Though Remus’ sincere condolences were not warmly received, she had been far less hostile than her husband.

It was tiring dealing with Mr. Dursley and the conflicting impulse Remus had to both comfort a grieving parent and plant his fist into the face of perhaps the most difficult and dislikable man he’d ever met. And that was saying something, considering Remus was acquainted with Severus Snape. He couldn’t fathom how Harry had managed to survive so long under this man’s roof with his sanity and optimism as intact as they appeared to be. Such a childhood would have undoubtedly broken those of lesser character, and Remus bore the boy an enormous new respect.

The bonfire had already been blazing in the back garden when they arrived, by chance, before the fire engines; far too late to salvage any of Harry’s belongings but early enough to neutralise any remaining magic in the charred remains, obtain the information they needed, and head off any real damage.

What followed had been tedious and heart wrenching. If they hadn’t already been on their way to retrieve Harry’s things, it might have been much harder to control the fallout.

The Muggle police had in no way been convinced of Harry’s guilt, despite Vernon’s vehement assertions. They saw only an accidental overdose by a boy with whom they’d had run-ins before, but they were still looking for Harry as an endangered runaway. Depressingly, the Dursleys had not a single photo of Harry to provide the police to aid their search, and with the expedient burning of Harry’s personal effects - which had commenced after the police had expressed they were not inclined to consider Harry a suspect -there was no evidence left whatsoever that a boy named Potter had ever stepped foot in 4 Privet Drive, much less that he’d lived there for fifteen years.

It broke Remus’ heart and made him almost blindingly angry, and though he felt guilty for thinking it, he really concluded that people capable of such prolonged and intentional cruelty did not deserve a child of their own, regardless of the influence the chastity spell might have had on their actions. That level of abuse was inexcusable for any reason. He resented the feeling but could not shake it.

As difficult as the last few days had been, Remus knew the next few minutes might prove the hardest. He should have known that agreeing to act as godfather to Harry Potter would be a daunting task, though he hadn’t expected it to be so so immediately. He had no idea if Harry held any love whatsoever for the boy who had died in his stead. Regardless, the news couldn’t help but be upsetting, and Remus would have to be the one to deliver it. Reluctantly, he rapped on the boys’ door.   

"Is Harry awake yet?" he inquired softly when Ron answered, but it was not the ginger who answered his question.  

"Remus!"

The werewolf stepped into the room and searched for the owner of the happy voice that greeted him, hating that he was about to snuff the boy’s enthusiasm. He almost failed to notice Harry kneeling between the room’s twin beds. When he did locate him, his heart almost stopped.

Remus had been so preoccupied with the aftermath of the attempt on Harry’s life, he had practically forgotten about his forbidden attraction to the boy. The sleek, bare torso peeking from behind Ron’s bed quickly reminded him, further complicating an already difficult situation. Harry leaned forward against the mattress, his head cocked questioningly, but Remus had turned away. He cleared his throat, wondering desperately if he could manage this errand without looking at the boy.

"Excuse me," he rasped. "I didn't realise you…”

It was no good. Maybe if he’d prepared himself beforehand... But even then, he wouldn’t have expected the boy to be in a state of undress.

“Perhaps it would be better..." he stammered.

 _Holy Hell._ Remus couldn’t even manage to excuse himself.

“I'll come back later," he mumbled, stepping back toward the door.

"No!" Harry objected rising to his feet. "I'm not busy or anything. I just woke up, is all."

The hopeful entreaty in his voice was impossible to miss. Remus glanced over his shoulder at him. Thank the gods he at least wore trousers. Remus didn’t think he could have handled the young man in just his pants. This, however, might be doable. He cleared his throat again.

"Yes. Well. Ron, would you excuse us, please?" Besides the sensitive nature of the news he was about to deliver, Remus knew he was behaving oddly and was less than comfortable with the way the other boy was looking at him.

Ron shrugged. "What for? He's gonna tell me anyway."

Remus bit back a curse.

"Go on, Ron,” Harry prompted thoughtfully as if he could tell Remus was struggling. “I'll meet you downstairs in a bit."

"Not going downstairs,” Ron protested. “Was going to Ginny and 'Mione's room."

"Then I'll meet you in Ginny and ' _Mione's_ room," Harry said impatiently.

Reluctant but arguing no further, Ron shrugged and left. Remus closed the door securely behind him but didn't turn around.

"So, what's up?" Harry asked brightly.

"Harry, don't you think you ought to put on your shirt?" said Remus, his hand on the doorknob as if he still considered escaping. He hadn’t intended the comment to be so sharp. If Harry thought anything of it, he didn’t let on.

"Can't find it," he explained, unfazed. "I'll have to wear one you've brought me."

The comment reminded Remus of the sad purpose of his visit. He sighed, chastised himself for the dozenth time, and finally turned to look at Harry, though he was reluctant to make eye contact. As distracting as the rest of him was, Remus seemed to have a special weakness for the young man’s eyes, and he was unsettled by the thought they might see something damning in Remus’ own.

"Actually, that's what I've come to talk to you about," he told Harry anxiously. Harry cocked his head in puzzlement.

"Um...you wanna sit down or something?" he offered, yanking at his trouser leg and sitting himself.

"Oh, no," Remus said but, after another furtive glance, changed his mind. He was the adult here. He needed to behave as one. Haltingly, he took a seat on the corner of the bed furthest from Harry.

" _About_ your things,” Remus began. “Actually, about your relatives, Harry...” _Good gods_. How does one even go about explaining this kind of situation? Especially with such a distraction present. Where was he to begin? “Are you _sure_ you can't find your shirt?" he asked to the floorboards, dreading the coming revelation.

"I've not looked very well," Harry shrugged. "Why are you on about my shirt?"

Remus looked up at him sadly. Judging from the size of the blaze, the boy had had so little to begin with, and now Remus had to inform him that that little bit was gone forever.

"Because it's the only one you'll have until we make it over to Diagon Alley to buy you some new ones," Remus said apologetically.

"What?" Harry asked with a small laugh as if thinking this was a joke. "Why?"

Remus sighed. "Because you don't own another,” he explained. “In fact, you don't have anything at all anymore except your wand and the clothes you came in." He could tell the boy was becoming aggravated with him, and he couldn’t blame him.

"Plain. English," Harry requested tersely. Remus pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger.

"Harry, you see, the Dursleys…”

_Might have lost their minds?_

“Well, it's your cousin."

Harry was giving him an impatient but apprehensive look. Perhaps he should try another tact. Remus took a deep breath and fished from his pocket the colourful paper candy straw Kingsley had lent him.

"Harry, have you ever seen one of these?"

They’d tested it thoroughly but would, of course, be needing it back. It was such a delicate situation, however, Kingsley did not feel Harry should be interrogated by a Ministry official. He’d given Remus the straw with instructions on what information he’d like to glean from Harry. If there was any to glean.

"Yeah. Ron sent me one for my birthday,” Harry shrugged. “The twins made it. But I left mine behind," Harry explained quickly, urging the man to get to the point.

"Did you give it to your cousin?"

"No," Harry began but recanted. "Well, yes, sort of on accident. I gave him the box of chocolates Hermione sent me, and I forgot that I dropped it in there."

"Did your aunt and uncle _see_ you give it to him?"

"Yeah, why? What's going on?" Harry asked, growing unsettled. Remus studied Harry's face, hoping the blow would not be too much for him.

"Harry, your cousin is dead." 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Harry looked at Remus sceptically, then started to smile as if he suspected Remus was having him on, but the man's grim expression made him pause. Remus could see the moment the truth of the matter finally broke through Harry’s denial.

"Dead?" he whispered. Remus nodded sadly.

"Poisoned," he explained. "It took quite a bit of doing, but we managed to get this from the Muggle policemen," he said, referring to the now empty straw.

"You mean, it was the candy?" Harry blinked. "But Ron's tried them, too," he rushed to explain, "and he's just fine."

"No. It wasn't candy, Harry. The candy had been replaced with a poison."

Harry shook his head, not comprehending, then gasped and looked back up at Remus. "Wait...surely you don't think Ron or-"

"No, of course, we don't suspect Ron or the twins," Remus assured him. "But we do think Ron's letter was intercepted."

And of course, now Hedwig’s injuries made perfect sense. That was news Remus knew he’d have to deliver soon, as well, but not just yet. He didn’t want to overwhelm the boy.

Remus watched Harry process the information, perhaps replaying the morning in question in his mind. Remus wasn’t sure what was passing through Harry’s thoughts, but there was a momentary, frantic anguish that flashed across his expression before he sobered and seemed to stare off into space. Remus wasn’t certain yet, though, if the boy required comfort.

"Dudley's dead," Harry said dazedly. "I didn't mean to," he blurted, his tears rising, gently breaking Remus’ heart that he would blame himself.  "I...I didn't _know_ ," he insisted shakily.

"Of course, you didn't, Harry," Remus consoled, laying a hand on Harry's knee.

He really felt he should have done more. He wanted more than anything to do more, to wrap the youth in an embrace, to take his pain from him. And not just from this but from all of it. Remus wanted to show him all the love and affection Harry’d obviously been denied as a child. He wanted to soothe the sting of the countless injustices he’d experienced since. Remus had once thought escaping to the Dursley’s had been a kind of reprieve for the young man from the recurrent dangers he faced in their world. Now Remus knew better. It had been the other way around. How sad that a life so fraught was the lesser of evils. Remus would take it upon himself to be a true sanctuary for the boy from now on, but he didn’t trust himself to embrace him just yet, and it made him burn with self-loathing.

"We aren't blaming you at all,” he assured him, “but we've got to be very careful from now on. They came much too close this time."

Harry nodded. "Do they know? I mean, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Do they know that the poison was...meant for me?" he asked timidly.

Remus hesitated. "They seem to believe you did it yourself," he explained. "They think that's why you disappeared. They had the Muggle law enforcement looking for you. Of course, the police aren't so sure,” he assured him. “Dudley ran with a tough crowd. They think his death involves drugs. Or at least, if they didn't before, they do now. The Ministry has been working since day before last to get it all straightened out. But yes,” Remus informed him sadly, “your relatives are blaming you."

"Me?!" Harry sputtered, hurt and shock flashing across his expression before it settled into anger. "So, is that why they wouldn't give you my things?" Harry demanded, his jaw clenched. "Couldn't you have just _taken_ them?"

"I couldn't take them, Harry, because there was nothing left to take,” Remus confessed. “Your uncle destroyed everything. All evidence you ever existed at Privet Drive."

Harry was absolutely livid.

"It's unfortunate," said Remus, watching him unsuccessfully attempt to subdue in his temper. "But I'm afraid, all things considered, you won't be able to return."

"I wouldn't go back if they begged me on their hands and knees!" Harry spat.

"You don't understand, Harry. You've lost your only real safe haven."

"As long as Dumbledore is Secret Keeper, I'm safe here," Harry argued.

"It's not the same kind of protection, Harry. Not as secure."

"I should have come here before, anyway," he went on as if Remus hadn't spoken, growing more and more upset. "I should have come _last_ summer, while Sirius-"

Harry choked on the remainder of his sentence. Instead of comforting him further, Remus withdrew his hand and looked away, drawing a painful breath. He couldn’t bear to touch the boy and think of Sirius. His grief was still too fresh and his shame too sharp. Sirius had wanted so badly for Harry to come live with them, but his safety had been far more important.

"My Firebolt. Remus,” Harry implored, pulling the man from his unexpected misery. “Please, tell me he didn't..."

Harry had barely started his sentence before Remus frowned at him and began to shake his head. The knowledge seemed to tip Harry’s anger into proper rage. Every muscle in Harry's body was taut. He clenched and released his fists, flexing his arms in a near-futile attempt to rein in his anger, and Sirius vanished from Remus’ mind. All Remus had the capacity for was the rippling display playing across Harry’s upper body. His fervour for Quidditch had sculpted his genetically impressive torso into something almost sinful, something only hinted at when those muscles were at rest but which would be sufficiently evident in the act of-

Remus abruptly realised that Harry had gone still, and he ripped his gaze from the young man’s chest and met his eyes, startled. He saw Harry shiver. Remus flushed and jerked his eyes away, suddenly restless and stammering.

He’d failed them both. His weakness was inexcusable.

"I suppose we'll have to get you some new things this week, first thing,” he murmured. “I do believe your Hogwarts letters have come in this morning. Yes, so it will be quite convenient."

But Harry didn't respond. He simply stared at Remus, and it felt as if he were reading Remus' guilt in every line of the man's expression. Remus had to leave - immediately - before he made matters worse.

"If you can't find your shirt," Remus continued to the far wall as he shot to his feet, "perhaps Ron can lend you one. Though, you aren't the same size. Let's see, I might have one.” He was practically babbling at this point, saying whatever came to mind to distract them both from his indiscretion. “Then there's always...Sirius' closet," he said, his voice trailing off to a hoarse whisper.

Remus felt his shame might be terminal. He glanced at Harry, wanting to say something more, but he abandoned it and strode hastily to the door. There he stopped half-way through. He swallowed hard, wet his lips, and chanced another glance over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he whispered before slipping through the door. Remus strode quickly to his own room to try and quiet his disgraceful arousal, all the while hoping the young man hadn't understood what Remus had really been apologising for.


	5. Lest We Remember Still That We Have None

**Before: Severus**

“You’re _certain_ you’ve heard nothing from Voldemort? No scheme to draw him out like last time?” 

The werewolf looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but that did not necessarily make Severus inclined to treat him with any special charity. The Potions Master was just as frantic, thinking of the chaos that would ensue if the Dark Lord caught wind of the disappearance.

“Let’s see. Oh, yes! Now that you mention it, he _did_ tell me over tea yesterday he thought he might traipse into London and pick up a few things: A new set of robes, some parchment, The Boy Who Fucking _Lived,”_ Severusspat, pacing up and down the kitchen. He had no idea how the other two men could bear to sit still at the table when the future of the free world was being imperilled by the tantrum of an angsty teenager.

“Of course, I haven’t heard anything from the Dark Bloody Lord!” he groused. “You were the last one to speak to the delinquent. What did _he_ say?”

Severus expected shouting in response, but Lupin looked subtly furtive, wringing his hands as they lay on the table in front of him.

“He seemed to take the news about his cousin well, I thought,” he offered lamely. Severus eyed him, puzzled, as Lupin’s cheeks coloured ever so slightly, but Severus could not interpret this body language. “But you know how close to the chest he plays things,” Lupin mumbled in conclusion.

“Close to the fucking chest,” Severus scoffed, turning to pace some more. “His every bloody thought tumbles straight from his brain and immediately through his cheeky fucking smirk with no filter in between to slow the goddamned freefall,” he muttered sourly.

“Severus, you are not helping,” Albus admonished. “Where might he have gone? _Why_ might he have gone? Remus, do you have any ideas?”

“I think,” said Lupin, reasoning aloud, “he blamed himself for his cousin’s death, as if he thought his proximity was at fault.”

“Which is an accurate appraisal,” Severus pointed out frankly. Lupin scowled at him but did not argue.

“Are you saying he might have left Grimmauld Place in order to protect us?” said Albus.

The other two men were silent, considering the possibility. Severus wasn’t certain what Lupin might be thinking, but he was anxiously replaying his comments to the boy from the day before.

He could imagine how they might have inspired Potter to set off on his own. But if so, the fool entirely missed Severus’ point. Blast him! As if they wouldn’t try to find him, putting everyone in further danger. If he was lost, it would be his own damned fault for not thinking things through. His regular failure to do just that had been the entire impetus for Severus’ implying his culpability in Black’s death.

Still, he could see how he might have miscalculated, and Severus felt mildly guilty. Not that the man could have known at the time what had happened to the boy’s cousin, which cast the conversation in an entirely different light. The suspicion that he might partially be at fault for the boy’s flight, however, made Severus uncomfortable.

Albus rose to his feet and stepped around the table toward the door with purpose. “Most of the Order has arrived by now. We’ll arrange search parties. He cannot yet apparate, and without a broom, he could not have gone far.”

“Unless he hailed the Knight Bus,” Severus reasoned as the man swept past.

“Excellent point, Severus,” the Headmaster said over his shoulder. “I’ll have Sturgis check with the operator.”

“I’m going out, as well,” Lupin said determinedly, springing to his feet. “I’ll just go and fetch a jacket, and then I’m off.”

And abruptly, Severus was left standing alone in the kitchen. After the intensity of the conversation and the sudden flurry of activity that had followed, the empty room seemed screamingly quiet. Just as well. Severus’ anxiety was plenty loud enough without adding to.

He, for one, had no intention of wandering about the city looking for the ingrate. He determined to stay just where he was in order to be present when they dragged the boy home so he could be one of the first in line to issue a tongue-lashing.

He continued to pace the room, though. There were far too many people in the hallways, and most were ancillary players within the Order, meaning they were not privy to Albus’ strictest counsel and did not understand Severus’ role here. They knew only that Albus trusted Severus, which earned their silence for the most part but did not save the Death Eater from their unspoken hostility. Severus’ patience was not abundant at the moment and his tongue not inclined to be checked. He decided to stay where he was so as not to tempt fate. Which is why it was so aggravating to hear the door creak open behind him.

“Kitchen is closed,” he barked without turning around. “Kindly fuck off.”  

“Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Severus’ breath froze in his chest, and his eyes drifted to a close.

It was rougher than he remembered it - deeper - but Severus was well acquainted with this voice. He hadn’t heard it in almost fifteen years, had thought he’d all but forgotten its timbre and cadence, but hearing it now, it seemed only yesterday it had last been breathed in his ear. Severus turned almost involuntarily to face the stringy blonde leaning lazily against the doorframe with her arms crossed, giving him a fond, knowing smirk.

“Loraina.”

The name had fallen softly from his lips without his realising. Her eyes danced when she heard it.

“No one has called me that in an age,” she said, pushing off the wall to saunter closer.

Severus felt spelled. He could not move. He could only watch her approach and wonder on the familiarity of her stride; and also on everything new in her posture and on the casual hardness of her expression.

“Severus,” she sighed, stopping only a few feet from him. “Time has treated you well, my love,” she observed as if she knew the same could not be said of her. Everything in her manner spoke of nonchalance, but Severus saw through the charade. Behind her blasé expression, she was drinking in his every detail, as she had to know he was doing as well.     

“You’ve arrived, then,” he said, his tone impersonal. He had made a living of deceiving the most powerful Legilimens in the world, but he knew he did not fool this woman for a second. She smiled at him.

“Just in time, it would seem, to miss our young saviour.”

“I’m sure he’ll be retrieved shortly,” Severus said with a shrug. “I imagine he’ll reveal himself in some dramatic and unfortunate fashion. It will likely just be a matter of following the chaos. Trust me, I’ve been picking up after the brat for years.”

She nodded. “Just so long as they find him before the Dark One does. I’m counting on our little Harry,” she informed him. Severus could hear the flint in her voice and wondered on how she had managed to retain such vehemence for so long. Severus’ own grudge was tired and faded. Though, its vividness seemed to be reviving a bit in present company.

“Apparently the whole world is, though they might not know it,” he replied, but he was almost too distracted for conversation.

He was far more overwhelmed by the encounter than he had expected to be. He’d spent years trying to forget this woman only to find himself contemplating, far more frequently than was strictly healthy, if she still lived and where she was, what she might be doing and what she must look like now. Now here she was, appearing far more worse for wear than he’d imagined but somehow still breathtaking, because what had made her so before had had so little to do with her physical features.

If he were honest, ever since Albus had advised him she would be taking the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Severus had worried that, on seeing her, his love for her might reawaken, and he would fall back under her dangerous sway like a star in doomed orbit of a black hole. But it couldn’t be reawakened, he understood now, because it had never been dormant, had never waned. He realised he felt just the same toward her as he had the last time he’d seen her, with all the same mournful knowledge he’d had then that this was not the girl he’d fallen in love with.

His love had not died, the person she had been had.

Not that Severus was not moved by the sight of her, but his fear that he would be swept away with longing thankfully did not materialise. Severus had no doubt she read this sad relief in him. He suspected she mourned as well, but they both knew what this was and what it wasn’t. It was a bittersweet reunion and a resigned truce.

“So, my love, I hear you’ve a tonic for me,” she said, wiping the sadness from her eyes and taking a small step back. “I can smell the young ones upstairs. Surprising, really. You’d have thought they’d have figured how to fuck by now. We certainly didn’t wait so long.”

Severus wondered if the comment was meant to do more that it appeared to on its surface, if it was not an innocent observation but an intentional trigger to bring to mind memories of the two of them. Did she realise that he hadn’t touched another woman in that way since? That there had always only been her? He wondered, as well, with a sudden and surprising but foolish envy, how many men she might have entertained since he’d last touched her. It wasn't as if it mattered, but Severus always had been the jealous type.          

“Granger has a fetish for propriety,” he explained, “and Weasley is an idiot. Though, considering his parentage, I’m certain he’ll figure it all out before much longer. Potter, of course, remains pure, though perhaps not by choice.”

“Why’s that then?” she asked. “I’d have thought his celebrity would have gained him entry into a veritable mountain of knickers by now.”

Severus regarded her. Had Albus really not explained? Perhaps he simply hadn’t had an opportunity.

“We’ve taken special steps to ensure it. The protective magic surrounding the boy relies on him retaining his virginity. Though, our precautions against that particular problem seem to have expired recently.”

“His life depends on him having perpetual blue balls? Pity, that. What’s the use of fame if it can’t get you laid?” she said offhandedly as if already losing interest in the topic. “So, I’ll wait for you to bring the stuff to me, then?”

Severus nodded. “Will you be staying at Grimmauld Place?” he asked apprehensively.

“Gods, no. With all these innocents running about? Not that I couldn’t control myself, but it’s likely to make me cranky. I don’t know how you do it, frankly. How effective could a potion be at quieting the bloodlust?” she asked slyly, stepping forward. She was suddenly far too close for Severus’ comfort. “You’re practically swimming in virgin blood on a daily basis. Do you not walk around with a permanent erection?”

“I am very often cranky, actually, but the potion makes the condition easily tolerable,” he said shortly, trying to resist the urge to place his hands on her, only to push her to least to arm's length. No doubt, knowing her, that’s exactly what she was trying to get him to do. But if he didn’t, she’d simply drift closer. Either way, he’d be playing into her hands.

Her chuckle at his obvious discomfort was a little too gleeful to be considered entirely sane.

“Cranky always did look good on you. But do you do nothing else to alleviate the strain?” she asked suggestively.

He should have known to expect this, but he’d been so preoccupied with his own reaction to their being reunited, he hadn’t given much consideration to what hers might be.

“Loraina,” he began cautiously, but the opening of the kitchen door interrupted him. Fortunately, as he had no idea what he'd been about to say to her.

“Ah. Rainey, my dear. You’ve arrived,” Albus said as the door swung to a close behind him. She smiled at Severus as if to say they’d continue this later before bringing back up her mask and turning to the Headmaster.

“Yes, just a little while ago, Professor,” she said with a polite smile, her hands held respectfully behind her back. Severus was glad to see she’d learned to pretend at normal, at least.

“I’m sorry you’ve turned up at such a hectic time,” Albus went on. “Has Remus not made his way back downstairs yet?” he inquired of Severus.

The Potions Master shook his head. “I’ll go see what the delay is,” he offered, not to be charitable but to have an excuse to remove himself from Loraina’s presence. He tried not to make eye contact as he brushed by her, half expecting her to attempt some inappropriate physical contact as he did.

The conversation in the hallway nearest the door died as Severus emerged from the kitchen. He ignored it and scaled the stairs as quickly as he could without raising suspicion. Though, this was easily out of habit, and Severus did not pay the effort much attention. He was distracted. Loraina did that to him. She distracted him. And distraction was the last thing he needed, considering the circumstances.     

He was so preoccupied with his preoccupation, in fact, that he did not knock when he came to Lupin’s door. Instead, he opened it smoothly and stepped inside before any ideas of courtesy could pass his mind. What he saw when he bothered looking, however, drove all thoughts of Loraina from his head.

 _"Potter?_ "

The blasted boy was standing in Lupin’s room plain as day, half clothed, looking for all the world as if he were having a leisurely chat with his alternate godfather; who was himself resting against the writing desk in the corner as though a dozen people we not currently losing their minds downstairs wondering where the two of them might be. Potter turned a dazed look to Severus standing in the doorway, and the boy had the nerve to seem disgruntled at the intrusion.

" _Where in hell have you been?_ " Severus snarled, bearing down on him. Potter opened and closed his mouth, looking at Severus as though he were some alien creature.

"I found him in the wardrobe," supplied Lupin.

"The wardrobe?" Severus demanded, raising an eyebrow at Lupin before turning an ugly grimace of confusion to the boy. "You mean to tell me the entire Order was set on alarm because you felt like playing _Hide and Seek?_ "

It really was too much. He supposed, somewhere beneath his absolute fury, there was a measure of relief that Potter hadn’t actually put himself in danger of capture by the enemy, but Severus was far too aggravated to enjoy it.

"Now, Severus," Lupin cautioned, rising to his feet, but Severus only sneered at the boy, too disgusted to insult him further, and looked to his guardian.

"He's your bloody responsibility, Lupin," Severus pointed out. "Can you not even keep up with him? Can you not impose some _discipline?_ " If it were left to Severus, he’d have soundly whipped the boy the instant he’d found him.

"Yes, Severus," Lupin began, drawing himself up. "He is my responsibility. Not yours. And as such, I ask that you leave me to see to it. Your advice, though duly noted, is neither requested nor desired. However, if you'd like to feel useful, I suggest you go and inform Albus that Harry has been found and will be coming downstairs directly to explain himself."

Severus glared at the werewolf, hearing the challenge in his voice but deciding he couldn't be bothered to answer it. He’d had enough of this evening and wanted nothing more than for it to conclude so he could go back to his quarters and try to pretend his life hadn’t descended into the tangle of fuckery in which it now found itself.

Harry Goddamned Potter and his terminal recklessness were bound to send him to an early fucking grave one way or another. And not just Severus.

With a final disgusted glance, Severus muttered, "We're all going to die," before he turned on his heels and swept back down the stairs.

  


	6. And What Not Done, That Thou Hast Cause to Rue

**Before: Remus**

Climbing the stairs to his room to retrieve his jacket, Remus reflected sadly on how he had come to find himself here.

Not that he wasn’t grateful to be. His life had been truly miserable when Albus had knocked on the door of his halfway house three years ago. He’d been penniless and unemployable. The riots of Dogtown only a few years prior had taken from him not only his shabby but much-loved, longtime home but also several of his friends, fellow werewolves whom Remus had considered brothers and sisters. Being given the opportunity to teach at Hogwarts had been the answer to his prayers and more. It had reconnected him with a world he thought had perished overnight well over a decade earlier. It had given him food and lodgings, an income...and Harry. Before the position had been lost, it had given him Sirius back, as well, and with him, a seemingly permanent home at Grimmauld Place.

Remus' life had regained a sense of stability which he did not take for granted. He no longer had to fear hunger or cold and wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. Being the legal guardian of the most important boy in the Wizarding world guaranteed him all the basic necessities, at least until that boy no longer needed him. He knew he had no right to complain about his circumstances, and he wasn’t. Remus was simply trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was the last.   

Somehow, despite his lifelong disadvantage, _he_ was the last Marauder. He was the only one remaining to watch over the only child the four of them ever had. Sixteen years ago, he never could have imagined it. 

He still clearly remembered the day Harry was born. They had all stood around Lily’s maternity bed and talked about how they would always be friends, and how all their progeny would play together some day. Sirius had mentioned he wanted three children. (Preferably all with the same woman, but you know how these things sometimes go.) And so, of course, James had then proclaimed, “We’ll have five, in that case,” before Lily had corrected him and advised: “You will have two and be happy about it, James Potter.”

“But what about Peter?” James had objected. He had just asked Sirius to be his first son’s godfather with the promise that Remus would be next.

“We’ll just have to make it up to him some other way,” Lily had replied.

“Moony, old boy, you simply have to have at _least_ one,” Sirius had informed him smilingly with a clap on the back. As if that were up to Remus. As if the werewolf dared procreate. Besides being less than inclined toward the opposite sex, there were prohibitions by the Ministry. And how could Remus subject a child to that kind of stigma, anyways, regardless of how badly he ached for children of his own? Remus had not replied, he had simply smiled and reached out in a silent request to hold James’ newborn son. He was already in love with the child and had resolved to be the best uncle anyone could hope for.

“He’s a natural,” James had remarked as he laid the boy in Remus’ arms. “He’ll get around to it eventually, Padfoot, you’ll see. Watch Wormtail have nine!” James had laughed. And they all had laughed with him; even Peter, though he had declined to hold the infant and certainly didn’t seem fond of children in general.   

They had planned to be one large family, with many offspring that would grow up together in a brighter world which they were working actively to create. But there had only ever been one - one child born to them out of hope and optimism amidst war and strife - and now it fell to Remus to look after him.

And he was cocking it all up.

Remus couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that his actions earlier had had something to do with Harry’s leaving. Harry had seen the hunger in Remus' eyes, the man was certain of it. Remus could imagine how _he_ would feel if he were sixteen and his newly appointed guardian had ogled him like a piece of fresh meat. He would have wanted to escape. Perhaps that was exactly what Harry had done.   

“Oh, Harry,” Remus sighed, stepping into his room, weary before the search had even begun. “I’m so sorry.”

He could still make this right. But first, he had to find the boy.

Remus plucked his jacket from the back of the chair at the writing desk but dismayed at the worn elbows and frayed seams. There were so many holes in the thing, he doubted it would be much use against the chill. Remus glanced to the wardrobe. He knew Sirius had had more than one sturdy dragonhide jacket.

But Remus hadn’t opened the wardrobe since Sirius had passed. Though he lived in it, the room still didn’t seem properly his, despite that he and Sirius had shared it for at least that man’s last year of life. Remus had been reluctant to disturb Sirius’ things, thinking he could somehow preserve his memory by preserving the man’s belongings. But Harry was more important than Remus' silly sentimentality. The man crossed resolutely to the closet and opened it quickly, like removing a plaster, as if haste would lessen the pain of the action.   

Miraculously, laying there on the floor at his feet was his missing ward. 

"Harry," he gasped, crouching over him, trying to determine whether he was hurt. The young man’s eyes were closed but he was stirring.

"No," the boy moaned as if fighting to wake from a nightmare.

"No what? Harry?" Remus begged, wondering if he dared pull the boy into his arms like he wanted so desperately to do.

Harry opened his eyes and squinted at Remus, struggling to lift a hand to shield his face from the light pouring in from behind the man.

"Gods. Harry, you're drenched. What's wrong?” Remus asked as he dropped to his knees beside him. “What's happened? How did you get here?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said shakily. "I mean, I came in here to find a shirt. I just...I think I nodded off."

Remus gaped at him. Sleeping? Harry had been _sleeping_ when Remus had frantically searched the house, coming to his own room twice and loudly calling the boy’s name? James had been an exceptionally deep sleeper, as well, but Remus still couldn’t quite accept what he was hearing.

"We've been searching for you," Remus told him, "since you missed your session with me. Severus is downstairs waiting to give you your Occlumency lesson. Dumbledore's there. He's frantic. _I_ was frantic. We all were. What in _Merlin's name_..."

Remus stopped and took a deep breath to calm himself. He decided it didn’t matter. Harry was here and safe, and that was the important thing.

"Are you alright?" he asked more gently. "You look pale."

"I think I need to lie down," Harry said pitifully.

With Harry’s arm hooked around Remus' neck, they shuffled out of the wardrobe and over to the bed where Remus lowered Harry onto his pillow and fussed over him, stroking back his sweat-soaked hair and mopping his brow with his tattered coat sleeve.

There was more to this than Harry was letting on. He was weak and worryingly pale. The room was much too cool to allow for his perspiration, even in the shut wardrobe. Grimmauld Place was perpetually freezing. Remus supposed it might have been a night terror. Whatever it was, he felt certain Albus would coax the truth from Harry after the boy had had a chance to recover. As soon as the young man was settled and appeared to relax, Remus sat back and carefully placed his hands on his knees. 

"I need to tell the others I've found you," he said, but Harry halted him.

"Not yet. Don't leave me alone just yet," he begged.

Definitely more than sleeping, then. The entreaty in Harry's voice could not be denied, and Remus gave him a worried but indulgent look before settling back onto the bed.

Somehow, in the rush of discovery, Remus had failed to notice the boy was still without a shirt. It was a heartening realisation, gave Remus reason to believe he could set aside his forbidden but involuntary attraction when necessary. Even now, noticing that the young man’s torso glistened with sweat did not trigger any major internal crisis. Remus' protective instincts still lingered, cancelling the worst of his base urges.

Having nothing better on hand, Remus reached over and stripped the case from Sirius’ pillow and set to drying Harry's neck and chest with it. The act was still intimate enough to unsettle him, but he took it as a kind of personal challenge to prove to himself he could overcome this flaw in himself and be what Harry needed him to be. He was so lost in concentration on this task, it was a long moment before he noticed the young man was staring at him. His eyes were concerningly empty, his expression placid.

"I'm going to go and get the Headmaster," Remus informed him, rising to his feet.

"Do you blame me?" Harry asked quietly before Remus reached the door.

The man froze. A number possibilities passed through his thoughts, but he was fairly certain he knew to which the young man was referring. Still, he turned back to Harry with a carefully crafted expression of confusion.

"Harry, I've said before, there's no way you could have known. No one believes your cousin's death was your fault."

"I didn't mean Dudley," Harry replied, his voice as flat as his gaze had been before. He propped himself up on his elbows, and something about the pose and the way it casually accentuated all the muscles of his upper body, rattled the werewolf. "I meant...do you blame me for Sirius? Do you think it was my fault he died? Do you think I killed him?"

Remus stared blankly at the young man, but he didn’t really see him. It felt as if all the air had been pumped from the room. He hated that Harry felt at fault. He ached for him and how that must gnaw at him. But he could not deny that in his darkest moments, when he could not banish the image of Sirius falling through the veil, Remus had cursed the boy for his lack of foresight. Though never aloud, even to himself. He knew Harry had made his flight to the Department of Mysteries in a desperate attempt to save the man’s life, but the fact remained that doing so resulted in his death. He didn’t blame Harry for what happened to Sirius, exactly. But though Remus’ bitterness was not active, he could not pretend that it never existed.

That did not mean that he wanted the young man to suffer over that guilt, even for a second. Sirius had not belonged exclusively to Remus. Harry had lost him, as well, and the pain of it certainly sufficed as punishment.   

"Of course, not," Remus finally managed to tell him, though with a poorly repressed shudder. "How could you think such a thing?"

Harry would not be so easily placated. He didn't answer, he only looked away, staring thoughtfully at the empty air before him.

"You all blame me, don't you?"

Remus hesitated, debating whether to continue on his errand and let Albus handle the situation or to return to Harry's side. Slowly, he drew back to the bed and looked down at him, absently reaching out to retuck a strand of damp hair that had fallen into the boy’s eyes. Harry looked up at him then, holding Remus’ reluctant gaze unflinchingly, and Remus could not divine what the boy might be thinking.

"Is that what _you_ believe, Harry?" Remus asked with a shake of his head, his brow furrowed. "Do you really blame yourself?"

"That doesn't matter. I want to know if _you_ blame me."

Softly, "Harry, I said I didn't."

"That doesn't mean you don't," Harry replied in a hollow voice. "That doesn't mean anything at all, really."

It hurt Remus far more than he thought it might, but he couldn’t blame the boy for his doubts. Remus had given Harry little reason to trust him since he had arrived.

"If you don't blame me,” Harry went on, “why do you avoid me? Why won't you look me in the eye?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Remus said with a small, nervous laugh. If Harry truly did not understand what forced Remus to drag his eyes to the floor in the young man’s presence, Remus thanked his lucky stars. He certainly wasn’t about to explain it. "I'm looking you in the eye now, aren't I?" 

But being reminded of his transgressions - and the reasons for them - reawakened what Remus thought he’d successfully put to bed.

"I'm going to fetch someone. You aren't well," he said, turning quickly to leave the room lest he stumble and do something unforgivable. Harry reached out and took hold of Remus' wrist to keep him there, and the contact was like touching a match to kindling.

Though he pulled against Harry's grasp, Remus did not jerk away or try to wrench himself free. He couldn’t. Even the gentle resistance he managed required a monumental effort. Harry’s touch paralyzed him. Remus met the young man’s eye and was terrified by what he saw there: not just the beauty of their shape and color but also the intensity of Harry’s stare and the reflection of his own guilt-ridden expression on their surface.

"Why did you flinch?" Harry asked, his manner insistent and unnerving. Remus didn’t understand his fey mood. "You act like my touch hurts you."

"It does," Remus rasped, surprising himself with the admission.

Harry scowled at the comment. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose to stand before Remus, allowing only enough room to accommodate the wrist he still held gripped between them. He searched the man's eyes, and Remus, though he stood in place, slowly began to lean away from the young man.

"But why?" Harry asked in genuine and innocent confusion.

"Harry, this isn't the time for this," Remus tried to say sharply, but the quaver in his voice ruined his attempt to sound authoritative.

He could not do this. He had to free himself from this room, from this boy. The stress of the evening on top of the reopening of his barely healed emotional wounds over Sirius left him with no strength left to resist the urge he had to bare his soul and consequences be damned, the impulse to reach out and yank the boy to him and kiss the gently pouting lips so close to his own. It was a thought that made him shiver even as it twisted his stomach.

"When is the time?" Harry demanded, oblivious to the man’s struggle.

"Harry," Remus said, his composure rapidly crumbling, "I can't...”

_Can’t resist the temptation of your nearness._

“You're…”

_Everything I want and everything I’ve lost and everything I can’t have._

“This is…” he sputtered, breathless.

_Sinful but delicious and completely impossible._

“It's too soon." 

_Because I haven’t yet learned how to ignore what was revealed all at once with the glamour’s fading, what should have crept up slowly with puberty so that I could become inured to it._

"Too soon for _what?_ " Harry whined, desperate to understand. And Remus was positively frantic in his determination that Harry would not understand. Not ever. Remus' wrist flexed under the boy’s fingers, longing to be released though savouring the captivity.

"Too soon,” Remus stammered on, unable to think of an explanation that might satisfy them both, “after Sirius-"

"What does Sirius have to do with you and me?" Harry interrupted. "Because Sirius is dead I can't touch you?” he demanded. “Because he's dead you can't look at me?"

" _Yes,_ " Remus gasped.

Harry grimaced at him, not comprehending, unaware he was tightening his grip on Remus' wrist.

"Harry, you don't understand. I can't explain it. This is just...wrong," Remus said firmly.

"But why?" Harry cried, growing more upset.

"I'm your godfather, Harry-"

" _Sirius_ was my godfather," Harry said vehemently.

"You're right!”  _He was._ Gods. Sirius was this boy’s godfather. _James_ was his _father_. Remus was meant to be his uncle, for fuck’s sake! What in bloody hell was wrong with Remus? “And I shouldn't be feeling..."

"It's that _damned spell_ ," Remus growled. "This isn't right. You're still too young. It's too soon."

He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never felt so lost and confused and desperate in his life.

"What are you talking about?" Harry bellowed.

"We were lovers, Harry!" Remus bellowed in return.

Harry gaped at Remus, unconsciously releasing him, and Remus stumbled back away from him, grateful to be loosed. In the absence of the young man’s touch, Remus’ mind began to clear. He backed all the way to the writing desk, further lessening the effect of Harry’s presence.  

And there is was. Not the whole explanation but perhaps enough. Remus did not know Harry’s opinions on such matters, he did not know if the confession would upset the boy or inspire disgust in him for Remus. Though really, if Harry could forgive his lycanthropy, surely he could accept this, as well. Remus hated the thought that he might have just marred Sirius’ memory for the boy, but he hadn’t known what else to say. 

"What?" Harry blinked. Remus reached behind him to grasp the desk for support.

"Your godfather and I were lovers, Harry," he repeated. Saying it out loud, considering the circumstances, only made Remus feel more wretched. Perhaps he should confess it all. Perhaps he should simply be honest about his failings and beg the boy’s forgiveness. Harry deserved the opportunity to reject him before Remus did anything that would ruin their relationship forever.

"I feel I'm betraying him,” Remus began tremulously. “I can't imagine what he would think of me if he were still alive."

Would Remus even be feeling this way toward Harry if Sirius was still with them? Or was it simply Remus’ loneliness and heartache mistranslating to physical desire? He lay his face in his hand.

"You turned sixteen," he said helplessly. "I just never thought it would ever affect _me_."

Harry clearly had questions, and Remus steeled himself to answer them. But before they had the chance, Remus’ bedroom door burst open and Severus strode inside, stopping dead in his tracks on spotting Harry.

"Potter?  _Where in hell have you been?_ " he snarled, bearing down on the boy. Harry was still reeling from Remus’ revelation and could not answer, so Remus did so for him.

"I found him in the wardrobe," he explained, rapidly composing himself. He felt a bit as if he were waking from a spell. Severus’ appearance had lifted the fog on this thinking, and he was slightly horrified considering the last few minutes. He couldn’t believe he’d almost admitted his attraction aloud to Harry. It had been a foolish and unforgivably selfish impulse. Harry did not deserve that confliction, he had quite enough complication in his life to be getting on with.

"The _wardrobe?_ " Snape said, raising an eyebrow at Remus before turning an ugly grimace of confusion to Harry. "You mean to tell me the entire Order was set on alarm because you felt like playing _Hide and Seek?_ " he spat.

"Now, Severus," Remus cautioned. He and Harry had both had enough stress for one evening, and Remus would be damned if he would hold his tongue as the sallow bastard went on one of his snarkish rants. But Severus only sneered at Harry, apparently too disgusted to insult him further.

"He's your bloody responsibility, Lupin," Severus said. "Can you not even keep up with him? Can you not impose some _discipline?_ "

"Yes, Severus," Remus began, drawing himself up. "He is my responsibility...not yours.”

Will _never_ be yours, Remus thought. And in that moment, he firmed his resolve to never reveal his feelings for the boy, in order to ensure that Harry remained Remus’ responsibility. Despite them, Remus knew he was by far the best suited to look after him.

Remus was the last Marauder, by gods. He was the closest thing to real family that Harry had left. Once again, Remus determined to be everything the young man needed and more.

“Your advice,” he told Severus icily, “though duly noted, is neither requested nor desired. However, if you'd like to feel useful, I suggest you go and inform Albus that Harry has been found and will be coming downstairs directly to explain himself."

Severus and Remus glared at one another, but Severus simply sneered. With a final disgusted glance, he muttered, "We're all going to die," before turning on his heels and disappearing back down the stars.

Harry watched him go, still thunderstruck, before turning to Remus. But the man only regarded Harry for a moment, regretting his partial confession, and followed Severus out of the door, motioning for Harry to follow.


	7. Revenge Now Goes

  **Now: Remus**

Remus was blissfully shattered.

It had been one of his fondest fantasies for some time now, but he had never allowed himself to _seriously_ entertain the notion that he might end up in bed with Severus Snape. The situation still seemed surreal, but proof of the event - in the form of scratches and bruises and the complaints of overworked muscles - would be evident well into tomorrow, he had no doubt. It had been more raw and intense than any sexual encounter he’d ever experienced, and everything about it was addictive. If Remus had had any questions before about Harry’s near obsession with the vampire, they had now been answered.

The best part of the experience by far, though, was this: his fingers cradled loosely but unambiguously in Severus’. Remus’ arms craved the man, but that would come later.

Severus’ fingers stirred occasionally as if he contemplated holding Remus’ tighter but kept deciding against it. Remus suspected the man was still struggling with the revelation that Harry was not a sole exception, after all. There had definitely come a point when Severus’ passion was not just a remnant of his interaction with their mutual lover. Remus had sensed the distinct moment when Severus’ enthusiasm became inspired by, and devoted to, him alone.

Remus dared to squeeze Severus’ fingers a bit more tightly. It seemed to make the vampire self-conscious. He did not release Remus’ hand, but he did reach with his other to cover himself with what remained of the bedclothes. It was a pity, but Remus had already memorised what was hidden away. The werewolf felt no inclination towards shyness himself and remained spread comfortably naked exactly as Severus had left him.

“Are you alright, Severus?” he asked softly, breaking the silence for the first time since Harry had left them. The other man started slightly at the sound of Remus’ voice and his cheeks coloured.

“I’ve been worse,” he admitted. 

Remus smiled, but it was fleeting.

“You don’t feel manipulated?”

Severus smirked, and Remus was warmed by how that expression could be so endearing in this context and so infuriating in others.

“It depends in what sense you’re implying.”

Remus propped himself up on his elbow, careful not to disturb the delicate position of their barely touching hands. It was heartening that the man allowed it even though their lust was spent, but now Remus was subdued enough to feel misgivings about the way the arrangement of extremities had come about.

“You have to know how happy this had made Harry. And me,” Remus added softly. Both their cheeks glowed in response this time, and though Remus suspected he was a fool for questioning his fortune, he felt there were things that needed to be said now rather than later. “But if that is the only reason you allowed it, I don’t think either of us would ask you to repeat it,” he whispered, disappointed before the man had even had an opportunity to respond. “I wouldn’t, for what it’s worth.”

Idyllic as it seemed on the surface, Remus didn’t want this as a compromise. If it was not genuine, it was not worthwhile. The men had been growing closer in recent days, enough so that Remus no longer desired Severus in a casual way. The vampire was not just an intriguing challenge now. He wasn’t a conquest. He wasn’t a novel fantasy to spice up Remus’ routine of self-satisfaction. Not anymore.

The two of them connected with each other in a way they simply couldn’t with Harry, a purely adult way Remus had forgotten he enjoyed and hadn’t realised he missed. It was a particular intimacy that could only be shared with a counterpart who had borne the same whips and scorns of a commensurate length of time. Harry had tasted some of their same troubles. He’d mined comparable depths of pain and loss, and that earned him their understanding and respect, but it also evoked their protectiveness. Remus and Severus did not feel compelled to shield each other from the horrors of the world. They commiserated in their mutual experience of them. It was refreshing. The years had lent their trauma a mellowed complexity and a sophistication in dealing with it which their young lover could not yet appreciate or comprehend.

Remus hadn’t peeled his eyes from the man since Harry had left them alone together, but Severus pulled his eyes from the ceiling for the first time now to return Remus’ gaze. His expression was uncertain but not harsh, and after a hesitant moment, he drew Remus’ hand fully into his own and held it properly.

“No,” he whispered, his cheek blazing crimson. “That wasn’t the only reason.”

It was far from a declaration of love, but it was exactly the validation Remus had wanted. They considered each other for a long while, and when Severus’ grasp showed no signs of weakening, Remus summoned his courage and drew closer to him. He had no expectation of Severus meeting him halfway. He didn’t require him to. It was enough that Severus allowed Remus to close the distance himself, let him press his lips to Severus’ in grateful acknowledgement of the vampire’s no doubt difficult concession. Remus rolled to his back at Severus’ side, still holding his hand.

“Do you suppose he’s taken the bath for himself?” Severus mused aloud after a mutually contented silence.

They both knew exactly why Harry’d disappeared so promptly and for so long, but thinking he could entice them into the tub alone together was a bit ambitious...and exactly the sort of thing the young man might attempt. Remus grinned to himself and strained his hearing to see if he could detect the sounds of sloshing water.

And he did, but it did not evoke the impression of someone bathing. The sound was unbroken and too loud. In fact, it didn’t seem to be coming from the bathroom at all. Remus scowled. He and Severus seemed to notice this oddity at the same time, and they shared a puzzled look. Remus released Severus' hand to sit up and listen more closely.

“Harry?” he called.

They looked at each other as they waited for a reply. When it did not come, both men crawled apprehensively from the bed. Severus wasted little time slipping into his trousers, putting his arms through his shirt while Remus merely tugged on Harry’s dressing gown. His lack of inhibition allowed him to reach the door before Severus, and Remus stepped out onto the landing and into an inch of standing water.

It was flowing steadily from beneath the bathroom door and pouring from the landing to the floors below, explaining the strange sounds. Severus was at his side almost instantly, taking in the same unsettling details, but Remus couldn’t speak to the man. Panic gripped him, and he rushed to throw open the bathroom door, fearing the worst.

He fully expected to find Harry bleeding on the floor where he’d slipped and injured himself. All the strength and agility in the world was sometimes no match for slick footing and hard tile. But they found nothing inside but an overflowing tub. Steam rose from its surface and hung thick in the room but not enough to possibly obscure the young man. He simply wasn’t there. Baffled but relieved, Remus sloshed over to close the gushing tap.

Severus, however, was not as comforted by the absence of a broken and bloody Harry in the bathroom. As Remus slipped back into Harry’s room to retrieve his wand with thoughts of limiting the damage to the house, Severus trotted down the stair, calling Harry’s name. Remus cast the floodwater a resentful look but chased close after him.

“Something’s wrong,” said Severus.

It was indeed curious and irresponsible, but that was Harry in a nutshell.

“He’s probably just gotten distracted with something downstairs and forgotten he started the bath,” Remus reasoned, trying to calm the other man.

“No. No, he isn’t here. He would have answered,” Severus fretted as they descended. “I never heard the door. Why would he floo to Hogwarts?”

Remus shook his head. Severus’ distress was contagious and not helped at all by the increasingly potent scent of something burning downstairs. They doubled their pace, clearing the last step almost simultaneously to stride toward the kitchen. Severus stopped dead at the threshold, though, as if the sight of a kettle having boiled dry was the epitome of horror. Remus rushed past him to kill the flame on the stove as the patter of water dripping from the upper floors continued behind them, louder now that it did not have to compete with the quiet roar of the burner. He never knew such gentle sounds could be so ominous.

“Okay. Let’s not panic,” Remus said, even as the act of drawing breath became more and more challenging.

Severus never heard him. Remus looked up to find the doorway empty. By the time he caught up with him, Severus was already stepping through the floo. Remus let the man go and rushed upstairs only long enough to yank his trousers on under his dressing gown. He ignored the water still ruining the carpets and woodwork on his way back to the sitting room.

Remus heard no voices as he stepped through Severus’ hearth. No doubt, if the man had found Harry here, Remus would have been met by the sound of Severus’ bombastic disapproval. This silence did not bode well. Remus hurried down the steps to Severus’ lab to find him there alone and oddly subdued. Severus’ hands were flat on the table in front of him, and his head was hung between slumped shoulders. With his heart in his throat, Remus approached him cautiously.

“Severus?”

He did not answer for so long that Remus raised a hand to comfort him, to comfort himself. But before it could descend, Severus finally spoke.

So quietly Remus almost could not catch it, the man simply whispered, “He’s gone.”


	8. All Mad with Misery

**Now: Severus**

“How do you know?” Remus asked softly from behind him.

Severus straightened and turned to him with an abject expression on his face and a flask in each hand. In one sloshed the liquid shimmer of memories. In the other, the thick ruby glint of blood. Remus took them from him as if he would not believe they were real until he touched them.

“His potion is gone, as well,” the vampire murmured, turning away and raking his fingers through the pile of chamomile scattered on the tabletop. Harry’d taken every drop, but it would not last him long. They hadn’t even determined how often he should take it. They didn’t know what the effects were, if any. All they really knew was that it had not killed him...yet.

Severus’ sickening panic had been shocked into silence when he had reached the bottom of the stair and seen the bottled offerings, but it had not dissipated. It waited, building behind a dam of confusion. The night had been so full of anxiety already, and Severus was exhausted.

He’d worked tirelessly to produce the now pilfered potion, and the testing of it had almost spent his last reserves of stamina. Just hours ago, he had had to prepare himself for the possibility that the elixir he had concocted might be toxic, that he might watch Harry ingest it and then stand helpless witness as it spoiled the young man’s internal organs, that _he_ would be the reason his Dearest Love died. Of course, that had not come to pass, but the uncertainty of it - the anticipation - had cost him dearly. Afterward, he’d only managed a few hours of sleep before they had woken him, concerned by Harry’s prolonged absence, and Severus' soul-gnawing anxiety had been rekindled. It had reached a fever pitch as Severus had scoured the Forbidden Forest for his wayward lover. Even Harry’s prompt appearance had not completely placated it. It was too soon after their experiment to relax.

And the night had not been remotely done with him then, either.

What happened next between the three of them had so completely rocked his perception of the world and himself, Severus had not yet had time to regain his footing in this sudden new reality. He had just done something he never in his wildest imaginings thought he could be compelled to do. That he realised he enjoyed it, that he accepted he was open to its occurring again in future, left Severus reeling.

And now Harry was gone. After pledging his undying love, after working through the pain of confessing his willingness to toss Remus’ love on the scrapheap to keep Severus at his side, Harry had left him.

But _why?_

Severus was not one to be paralyzed by the unexpected, even when it was unspeakable, but this was too much. Any one of the night’s events would have proved challenging to contend with, but all of them together overwhelmed him completely. He knew it was only a matter of time before it all caught up to him, and Severus wasn’t certain whether or not he wanted Remus around to see it when it did.

He still didn’t understand what he felt for the man. He’d spent so many years hating him, and then, over the course of a few weeks, he found himself not. And then he found himself confiding in him.

And then he found himself shagging him.

Severus wasn’t wholly convinced he even liked the werewolf. Remus was off-putting but in an almost agreeable way which Severus couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

The man simply _said_ things, anything to anyone at any time it occurred to him he should. It wasn’t that he had no filter - that was Harry’s shortcoming, not Remus’ - the werewolf was merely bold. If he perceived a thing as true and right, even if it was possibly to his detriment, he spoke it.

To a man like Severus, so used to dealing with deception, who habitually said nothing unless absolutely necessary, Remus' openness was nearly incomprehensible. The man communicated almost compulsively, and to the Potions Master’s horror, something about his lack of inhibition inspired Severus to respond in kind. Remus was disgustingly easy to talk to, and in Severus' doing so, so much of Remus and Harry’s relationship had been put into perspective for the vampire. Despite his resistance to the phenomenon, Severus found Remus’ presence to be comfortable and reassuring. It was all pleasantly exasperating.

No, he wasn’t certain he liked the Gryffindor, but Severus most assuredly did not dislike him. Severus wouldn’t call them lovers, but they were partners of some sort. Consorts? Allies? Cohorts? Whatever they were, they were in this together, and alone now; and the potential answers to the questions that would quite possibly drive their every ambition for the foreseeable future were held in the glass container the other man still held with a lost and dreading look.

The memories in the flask danced, and Severus lay a hand on Remus’ wrist to stop its shaking. Unlike Severus, Remus had been trying too hard to explain away this turn of events and make it into something innocent and misunderstood. Now that the truth was settling in, so was Remus' pain.

But Severus had known. Somehow, though he could not explain it, when Harry had not answered their call the first time, Severus had simply known Harry was gone. He suspected it was because he’d been anticipating the event for almost two years now. Ever since the war had ended, once the inquiries were concluded and Severus was officially pardoned and he and Harry had returned to Hogwarts to settle into the rest of their lives, Severus had been preparing for the day the dream would crumble. He knew in his heart he did not deserve the happy ending he seemed to have received. He knew that Harry did not deserve for Severus to be his ending, either. The man had wanted better for him, though he could not quite bring himself to cut the cord himself. The young man had earned the right to so much more than what Severus could offer, and it had seemed to Severus it was only a matter of waiting for Harry to realise that.

“We have to view these, Severus. Now,” Remus stammered shakily. “Whatever happened was urgent enough that Harry left the bath running and the kettle burning. I have a feeling time is of the essence.”

Severus nodded as he reclaimed the flask of Harry’s blood from Remus and set it back on the workbench, but he was unhurried in his actions. He knew they must do exactly as Remus had said, but Severus so dreaded what they would see, and he doubted a few extra moments would really matter in the scope of things.

“Minerva keeps the Pensieve in her office. We should be able to access it without waking her,” he told the man quietly.

As anxious as he was to get to it, Remus hesitated, giving Severus a concerned and scrutinising look. He placed a light hand on Severus’ shoulder, but the Potions Master politely shrugged it off. He could not be touched right now. He felt blistered, as if he was so full of emotion he might burst under the slightest pressure. Without another word he turned and climbed the stair. Remus followed a few steps behind, respecting Severus’ need for space.

They flooed into the Headmistress’ office as quietly as they could. Rude as it was, they must not rouse her yet. Whatever Harry’s memories contained, it was undoubtedly personal. They needed to view them before determining if they could be shared. Severus was uncomfortable even allowing Remus to see them, but Severus could not do alone whatever it was that needed to be done, and Remus was as much a part of this as Severus was. He was far more a part of it than any of the others. He’d bled for the young man. He’d earned his place here when he’d accrued his new scars on the Full.

Severus carefully removed the Pensieve from its cabinet before taking the flask from Remus and emptying the contents into it. There were so many. Severus had never viewed more than one at a time. Being all from the same person, would they order themselves? Did it matter what sequence they viewed them in?

Remus already had his wand out and held it over the basin, looking restlessly to Severus to do the same. Severus reached for his own wand only to realise he was not wearing his robes. He had been so frantic, he had not even buttoned his shirt. He couldn’t recall a time when he had ever gone about so unkempt, even in his own quarters, even before he shared them. For some reason, this small shock threatened to unravel him completely, and he began to tremble.

He felt like a fraud. He’d told Harry he would follow him anywhere, that he would face anything to keep him safe, but how was he supposed to save the young man when he could not even keep up with his own wand?

“Severus.”

He looked up sheepishly, expecting pique, but he found only kindness in Remus’ expression. The patient steadiness of the other man’s gaze was like a lifeline, and Severus clung to it. Gradually, his tremor quieted and his heart slowed again. Without a word, Remus offered his hand. Severus took it loosely, but Remus would not have that. He pulled Severus properly into his grasp and held him there gently and with warmth, trapping Severus’ reluctant eye with an unfailingly indulgent one until, finally, Severus nodded. Then, Remus touched his wand to the surface of the basin, pulling them both into Harry’s past.


	9. Wilt Thou Kneel With Me

**Before: Severus**

“There’s your boy wonder now,” Severus commented to Loraina when Potter appeared on the landing, pausing to look over the congregation as if performing a benediction. “Don’t ask me why he’s naked,” Severus muttered, “I’m sure I don’t know unless he really is that desperate for attention.”

“Well, he’s got mine,” Loraina replied with a sly grin, leaning closer so as not to be overheard. “Have fun guarding _his_ virginity. You might have to protect him from me.”

Severus sneered and crossed his arms.

“You see some virtue in that?” he scowled, nodding toward the stairs. It was true that the spell had hidden certain charms, but Potter’s body was still clearly that of a child. Well, not a _child_ , exactly, but a pre-adult. Not that Severus was any more strapping, but there was still more of him.

“Oh, stop pretending you don’t,” she teased, making Severus cast her a disgruntled glance. “He looks positively delicious.”

“You know, if you intend on teaching, you really need to start trying not to view the students as food,” he pointed out.

“I’d certainly like to sink my teeth into him, literally and figuratively. But thankfully you’ve given me my medicine. I’ll behave.”

Her sing-song promise did not inspire confidence. Severus raised an eyebrow at her. Loraina was constitutionally incapable of good behaviour.

It was unexpectedly nice to have her around, however. So few could match him in cynically snide conversation. He’d feared their interactions would be awkward and stilted, but they’d fallen into a casual familiarity so effortlessly, one would have thought they’d spoken every day for the past fifteen years. Not that she wasn’t still mad as a hatter, but she seemed to recognise it and had grown adept at keeping its expression to a minimum. Even crazy, Severus still understood the way she worked, and no one on Earth knew him better than she did. Granted, he hadn't changed much in her absence except to become increasingly more bitter. But then, she’d kept pace with him in that regard.

He couldn’t enjoy her company much longer at the moment, though. Albus had been summoned and was leading the fugitive toward the kitchen. Severus knew he was meant to follow.

“I may be a while,” he warned Loraina as he readied to fall into step with the approaching procession.

“I’ll entertain myself,” she assured him. Before he could turn to acknowledge her comment, she was already gone. He cursed softly under his breath. She wouldn’t be able to pull that vanishing act at Hogwarts. She should not attempt it here in so crowded a space, but luckily all eyes were on Grimmauld’s patron saint.

Severus wordlessly followed the trio into the kitchen, closing out the riffraff in the hall and stationing himself in the shadows by the doorway, trying not to be sick as the room’s occupants fell over themselves to fawn over their resident pain in the arse.

"Good Lord," Arthur sighed. "It's so good to see you're alright, Harry," he smiled, taking Potter by the shoulders and hastily inspecting him as if to assure himself the boy was indeed still in one piece.

"Back away from the boy, Arthur. Give 'im some air," Mad-eye called gruffly, nonetheless clip-clopping over to station himself in the exact same position the other man had just relinquished. Moody studied Potter distrustfully, prodding him here and there. Severus almost chuckled to himself at the boy’s indignant expression as he moved his arms to shield his ribs from further assault. 

"Say," Moody called over his shoulder to the others. "Just how do we know this is the _real_ Potter? Looks a bit suspicious to me," he grunted under his breath, his magic eye sweeping up and down the boy while his normal one squinted Potter in the eye. "Thought he was scrawnier than this," he added with another prod. Potter's brow furrowed in offence. It was quite an entertaining show. "And I never knew the boy to have a penchant for _nudity_. If you ask me, we should-"

"Oh, _come off it_ , Mad-eye," Nymphadora interrupted, elbowing the former Auror aside. "Wotcher, Harry!" she grinned, hitting him playfully on the arm.

Actually, if they all felt like assaulting him, Severus sympathised and would gladly invite the rabble in the hall to come inside to have a go, as well. Severus wondered vaguely if he could get away with slapping the boy.

"Gave us a run there. Where've you been hiding, anyway?"

Potter, however, simply gawped at them all like a fish out of water, and Severus decided he was tired of this production. He rolled his eyes and threw an impatient look to Albus who nodded and began waving the others out of the room.

“Thank you, everyone. I understand your enthusiasm, but if you would kindly excuse us. Remus? Severus? I’d like you to remain behind, if you would, please.”

Everyone complied without comment except for Molly.

"Now you be sure to drink this all down, Harry Dear," she said, setting a steaming cup of tea before him. “Dear gods, Albus, he's so very pale! And he's clammy all over. Just _feel_ of his skin,” she remarked. Albus acknowledged her concern but gently urged her to follow her husband. As she was ushered outside with the others, Severus looked at the boy more closely.

He _was_ pale. Worryingly so. It was something that Severus had failed to notice until Molly had pointed it out. Perhaps there was more to the boy’s absence than he’d thought.

Though, really, how was _Severus_ expected to notice such things? He’d had other matters on his mind. Severus had just spent the whole afternoon in the Dark Lord’s presence, having been blithely informed that they had negotiated with the Dementors to defect and bring the Dark Lord’s followers in Azkaban with them. Severus had been unable to break away until the deed had been done, cocked up, and the ensuing chaos had been sorted. Once the Dark Lord had finished destroying most of his furniture and one of his house elves in a fit of rage at the cowardice of one Lucius Malfoy, Severus had rushed to Grimmauld Place to advise the Headmaster of the new developments only to find the house in an uproar over the apparent disappearance of their supposed saviour.

Really, all things considered, Severus didn’t think he should feel bad for failing to notice that the brat had looked a bit peaky when he’d crawled out of the closet. But annoyingly, Severus did.

"I cannot understand this commotion," he snarled, huffily snatching up the teapot from the table in front of the young man and setting it, almost violently, on the counter. "He was in a _wardrobe_ for crying out loud! You'd think he was snatched from the icy grip of Death itself."

"Severus," Albus said calmly. "We are all merely relieved to find he is, indeed, safe. We might easily have not been so fortunate. Let us not make too light of the situation until we've heard what Harry has to say."

Severus snorted and stalked moodily back to his corner, glowering at the whelp and his audacity to be legitimately unwell.

But Potter’s ensuing report so unsettled Severus, he forgot to be aggravated. Severus felt mildly ill. The Dark Lord was no longer planting images in the boy’s mind. He was actively mining it, and Potter had no defense against the intrusion.

Severus had had years to perfect his own defense, compartmentalizing and camouflaging everything the Dark Lord was not allowed to discover so that he could give the fiend free rein to examine all else without suspicion. The boy could not do this, and one of the things foremost on Potter’s mind, one of most dangerous things the boy could reveal, was Severus’ sincere attempts to teach the boy to shut the Dark Lord out. Which would raise suspicion enough in him that he would search Severus’ mind more thoroughly. Any attempt to resist the scouring would confirm Severus’ betrayal and result in the Potions Master’s hasty demise.

But not only his. Without Severus, they had no safeguard against the Dark Lord’s plans, no way to counteract them in time to prevent his creeping dominance of their world. If Severus fell, the world fell with him.  

All three men were struck dumb by the narrative. Severus found himself staring at the young man. No wonder the boy was pale. Severus knew what it was to have Lord Voldemort in one’s head. But beyond this, Severus was thinking of Loraina. The boy knew her name even if he had not yet seen her face. He would not know to try to keep the information from the Dark Lord. If the villain realized Severus had kept this information from him, they would both be doomed.  

"Severus," Albus said quietly, waking him from his thoughts. Severus nodded and slid soundlessly from the room. He would need to return to the Dark Lord and try to determine if any damage had been done.

Loraina was waiting for him in the hall. It was still too occupied for comfort, but the crowd had thinned considerably. Severus ignored the distrustful stares they drew and slipped past the woman, motioning for her to follow him to the anteroom.

“So. You’re on your way to go kneel before the Bastard, I assume?” she sneered, chasing closely at his heels.

“I must.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“What would you have me do?” he asked in a fierce whisper, spinning to face her. “Do you want the child to live long enough to kill the arsehole? Then someone has to keep him breathing, and so far that person has been me. And I do that by ‘kneeling before the Bastard’. Some things are more important than pride.”

Loraina returned his hard stare. “Why must you be the only one to risk yourself so regularly?” she asked, a subtle tremor in her voice. “Why must you be the old man’s puppet?”

Severus was taken aback to recognize worry in her stony expression.

“Because I’m the only one who can, Loraina,” he replied softly. “You know that. This is my penance and my duty. But, my love,” he began anxiously, surprising himself with the ease with which the old words fell from his lips, with how natural it felt to take her lightly by the arms so that she marked what he was about to say. “You must keep away from the boy, if you can. At least until I return.”

She looked at him apprehensively and then heaved an exasperated sigh. “Sev, I wasn’t being serious about-”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted, glancing around them to make sure no one else was near. They were alone, but he stepped closer anyway. He wasn’t certain if Albus had intended to tell Loraina this. _Surely_ he did, but just in case, Severus had to warn her.

“The boy. He is connected to the Dark Lord.”

“Connected?” she asked sceptically.

“Psychically. We don’t yet understand exactly how it works or why, only that it exists. But he does not yet have the skills he needs to shut the fiend out. For the most part, they’ve simply transmitted images to each other of what they are seeing at the time, especially when one of them is experiencing a surge of emotion. And the boy is forever emotional. You cannot be in his sights when it happens, do you understand?”       

She nodded and Severus released her, relieved.

“I must go,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Severus,” she called to him.

He stopped, hand on the knob, but did not turn.

“Be careful. Or else I’ll have to try to kill the bastard again, and we both know how that turned out last time.”

Severus didn’t respond. He simply slipped out the door into the night, Apparating before his feet hit the pavement.   


	10. Cursed be that Heart that Forced Us to this Shift!

**Now: Remus**

Severus dropped Remus’ hand as soon as they materialised in Harry’s memory, but Remus wasn’t given an opportunity to reflect on his disappointment because Harry abruptly burst from Severus’ office door into the corridor where they stood. He was highly distraught, choking on the words he repeated over and over, which were almost incoherent from his lack of breath.

“So sorry, Severus!” Harry gasped as he stumbled past them and out onto the grounds. “I’m _so sorry_.”

Remus thought he had prepared himself for shock, but the immediate intensity of Harry’s distress rattled him. He looked helplessly over at the man to whom Harry was apologising. Severus seemed to know when they were, and the recognition wounded him. Remus had rarely seen the man so demonstratively emotional. His face crumpled on seeing the young man, and he reached after him as if to comfort him, but of course, nothing could change the past. Without even a glance to Remus, Severus followed Harry, and Remus followed Severus.

Drunken on anguish, Harry's progress was clumsy, but once his sobs finally seemed to work out an efficient escape from his lips, the young man found his feet and began running properly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Severus streaked along at his heels, but Remus found himself struggling to keep up. He would not have been able to keep pace with a vampire running in earnest on the best of days, but he was still rather disappointed in his performance. Remus wrote it off to the stress of the evening. It didn’t particularly matter, the memory swept him along at its boundary anyway.

Remus was rather worse for wear when the scene finally settled. He stumbled breathlessly up next to Severus whose eyes were glued to Harry where he’d collapsed finally to finish his weeping on the forest floor. To Remus' surprise, Rainey was there, as well. She crouched a few feet from the young man, oblivious to the handful of leaves he tossed in her direction as if to drive her away. Severus scowled. He seemed troubled by her presence. Neither man spoke as they watched the scene unfold.

“Are you done yet?” she asked when Harry’s tears eventually slowed, earning Remus’ irritation. Rainey was abrasive at the best of times, but her social ineptitude was particularly galling now. 

"Fuck you," Harry muttered in response.

“It’s such a pity that you hate me," she sighed with a shrug. "I’m so very fond of you.”

“What do you want?”

Remus could tell Harry was still raw from his recent crying fit. He sounded exasperated by her stubborn company.

“To help you,” Rainey told him plainly. Harry smirked, giving her a distrustful look. Remus and Severus shared an uneasy glance and crept forward to better hear the conversation.

"Why? How could you possibly help me?” Harry asked. He was hostile but exhausted, and Rainey seemed to eye him like wounded prey. 

“I spent over a decade eeking out a living in the wilds of Eastern Europe. Did you think Animus Secretum was the only thing I learned?" she chided, giving him a sly, scolding look. "I can help you with what you want.”

“What in hell makes you think you know what I want?”

“Well, perhaps not with what you want but with what you intend to do, at any rate," Rainey conceded. "You can’t leave yet, though, Lovely."

Remus was taken aback. Had Harry really planned to leave? Remus had assumed it was simply Severus’ insecurities that had planted that suspicion in his mind. Had everyone recognised Harry’s intention but him?

Cobs rose to her feet and reached down a hand to help Harry to his, but the young man ignored it.

"You aren’t ready,” she went on. “You’re too new. But you have potential. Let’s explore it, you and me. To fight the monsters who’ve done this, you must become a proper monster yourself.”

“No,” Remus whispered, horrified. They had hoped to guide Harry on a higher path, away from his monstrous instincts. He turned a pained look to Severus. The man was fixated on Harry and Rainey’s interaction, but his scowl spoke of deep disapproval.

“And you know how to make me this monster?” Harry asked cynically, cocking his head to look at her properly. Remus shook his head, willing the scene not to take the turn he suspected it must have.

Rainey’s bland expression cracked into a slow grin. “I have some ideas.”

Harry stared at the woman for a long while, contemplating the stubborn, unmoving hand. Finally, he reached up and accepted it, and Remus’ eyes fell closed with sickening disappointment. It was so sharp it turned his stomach. He suddenly understood the state of the young man when he had flooed home those days before, his clothing in tatters; or absent completely, replaced by blood. He knew Rainey had been allowing Harry to fall further into the hunt than was healthy. What he hadn’t known was that it wasn’t accidental.

Apparently, it hadn’t been a matter of Harry still learning to control his new powers. Rainey had fostered his descent. She’d encouraged his excess. What Remus couldn’t yet understand was why.

The sound of fleshy impact woke Remus to the scene again. He looked up, startled, to find Harry holding his jaw and scowling at the woman.

“Did that make you angry?” Rainey asked him almost cheerfully, shaking out her fist.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry sputtered. “Of course, it made me bloody ang-”

“Good,” she interrupted, spinning to knock his legs from under him. Remus flinched as Harry landed hard.

“And now?” she asked mildly as she straightened.

“Goddamn it, Loraina!” Harry spat, red-faced, and started to rise. Rainey reached out a toe and sent him back to the forest floor.

It was difficult to watch her toying with him. Remus had long suspected she was not half as mad as she seemed at first glance, but this episode was making him reconsider. Harry had been volatile long before he’d been infected, and now that impulsive temper had potentially dangerous consequences. It was as if she was asking to be hurt.

“Angrier?” she chirped.

Harry sprang to his feet so quickly Remus almost could not follow it. His lips peeled back and his hands curled to claws, a concerning rumble coming from deep in his throat.

“What game are you playing at, Cobs?” he growled.

“My favourite kind,” she answered, almost giddy. “Werewolf-baiting.”

Remus felt the blood drain from his face.

 _No_.

No, she couldn’t be doing was Remus thought she was doing. _Surely_ she wasn’t.

Remus nodded his unseen approval as Harry took deep breaths to calm himself, but he knew the young man was explosively reactive, and Rainey was effortlessly infuriating. If she was intent on drawing his anger, she’d be successful.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, slapping him smartly across his uninjured cheek. Remus winced. Predictably, Harry’s restraint finally snapped and he lunged at her, pinning her to a nearby tree with his fingers around her throat. A growl bubbled from his throat, but she simply laughed at him.

“Not long now, Lovely,” Rainey said in a strangled purr. She escaped him with a solid blow to his chest that sent Harry staggering, and the young man howled in anger.

“No, no. _Go back_ ,” Remus pleaded. He was beside himself, his hands in his hair as though pulling it out might prevent what was happening. Remus could see the change working in Harry already. His skin seethed almost imperceptibly as his fur sought escape. Harry couldn’t have recognised the danger he was in before this moment. He was too inexperienced. But it seemed to dawn on him now. He cast his tormenter a panicked look, and she swiftly came closer, crouching to catch his eye.

“We can’t practice putting you back until we manage to bring you out,” Rainey said, her giddiness now almost manic. “The Full is a long way off. If we are to do this exercise, we should do it now. The sooner the better. Closer to the Full, we may not can bring you back so easily. But all the children are gone home. You are settled. Dawn isn’t for hours, and the Dark was only days ago. Do you really want to leave?” she demanded sternly when he whimpered his reluctance, scratching at his arm. “Or do you only want an excuse to weep in the dirt?” she sneered. “An excuse to have your boyfriend pace and your lover to pet you later?”

Remus was livid. This was so unbelievably irresponsible! If they hadn’t been in Harry’s memory, he would have strangled the vile woman.

Sod it. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction of her response, but he strode toward her anyways. Severus caught him by the arm. Remus was so incensed, he had almost forgotten he was there.

“I know,” Severus said apologetically as if he felt responsible, as if he could have somehow prevented this.

Whereas Remus was enraged to the point of violence, Severus seemed wretchedly sad. Seeing it cooled some of the werewolf’s temper. Though Remus’ expression softened, Severus still held his arm, not in restraint but as if for support. Remus only just resisted the urge to lay his own hand on top of the vampire’s. He was afraid if he drew too much attention to the contact, Severus might end it, and Remus felt he needed the man’s touch as much as - if not more than - Severus did. 

“Well?” Rainey demanded of a desperate Harry. “Are you going to go home now and toy with other people’s hearts like a little girl playing dollies?” she taunted. “Or are you going to grow up and follow through? Are you going to be a man and stand up for yourself, or are you going to let some invisible stranger get away with ruining all of our lives?”

Remus wasn’t certain why she was so invested in what had happened to Harry. She’d only just been made aware of it. Of course, Remus could tell she’d been disturbed by Severus’ battered state after the Dark. The man had been so injured and exhausted, Remus had felt he had no choice but to summon her and explain the situation.

It had been a hard decision, but Remus had felt it to be the right one. Severus would not allow Remus to help him. He’d simply handed Harry over once they unlocked the door and retreated wearily back down the steps, requesting only clothes and privacy. The man was so damned stoic, he would have languished alone in the lab until he could have summoned the strength to drag himself outside. Remus saw no reason for him to suffer. Rainey was rarely far away, and she knew far better than Remus what Severus might require. It seemed a natural solution, and he hadn’t questioned the move until now.

As she shouted at him, Harry’s resolve seemed to cement and his timidity melted away. His expression hardened, and Remus watched with sickening dread as Harry surrendered to the wolf.

Rainey’s chest heaved as she watched the pain of the change curl Harry’s body in on itself, though Remus couldn't tell if it was from fright or excitement. She stepped back from him as he flailed, her gaze intense and impossible to decipher. Impressively, Harry managed to keep his feet, and he emerged from the transformation to glare at her with unmistakable and instinctual enmity. Slowly and cautiously, Rainey began to circle the tense, panting creature Harry had become. Her nose was scrunched as if scenting something foul, but her eyes shone with excitement as they caught their first glimpse of this unique creature.

Was she satisfied, Remus wondered angrily. Was he what she had expected?

Remus had been terrified of the bloodwolf, himself. When Harry transformed on the Full, Remus had momentarily entertained the notion that that night might be his last. It occurred to him that he was the only one who had ever seen Harry in this form, and he turned to Severus to see his reaction.

The man did not seem to share his former lover’s morbid fascination with Harry’s bizarre new form. Severus studied it with anguished sympathy, and Remus forgot himself and squeezed the hand clutching his arm, giving his companion a consoling look. He understood Severus’ pity. What Harry was was so obviously unnatural. Remus recalled Harry’s horror on seeing himself on the Full, and he ached for the young man afresh.

Harry's shape might not have been beautiful to behold but, by gods, what potential it held. His long legs increased his speed and the strength and distance of his spring. His arms were practically human, allowing far more articulation than a wolf’s corresponding limbs and gifting him far greater reach and more precision in his destruction. His maw was shorter but heavily muscled, more likely to sever than to clamp, and his fangs were small daggers. As the weapon he’d been designed to be, he was fearsome. As their burdened lover, he was heartbreaking.

Harry followed Rainey’s progress as she circled him, but when his neck could twist no further and she moved to his peripheral, Remus saw the wolf take rein. He’d become well familiar on the Full with the shifting of the young man’s consciousness. Harry launched himself in Rainey’s direction, and even though she clearly anticipated it, she only narrowly evaded his attack. Remus felt a smug satisfaction on seeing her realise that she had underestimated Harry, and he suffered no compassion for her as Harry brought blood more than once in the ensuing scuffle. She was no real match for Harry. None of them were. But she held her own much better than expected, and it was obvious she was used to this type of battle. 

It was evident, as well, that she was trying to avoid harming Harry, but he was formidable enough that she had no choice if she was going to survive the encounter. She managed to throw him off, and as he prepared to charge her again, her hand flew to a phial tucked into her waistband. Remus could smell the Aconite from where he stood, and he grimaced, knowing the burns the young man was about to receive. She charitably avoided his face, intentionally aiming for his arms. The shower of solution brought Harry up short with a yelp. It had succeeded in ending his relentless attack, but Harry was not yet himself.

“Do what Dear Severus taught you,” she coached in an even, soothing tone despite that she was trembling and near breathless. “Don’t slip away on me again, Lovely. It’s been marvellous fun, but now it’s time for you to come back to us, yes?”

Harry snarled, then whimpered again, clearly struggling to remember who he was. Rainey relaxed her guard and held her palms up to him.

“Harry Potter,” she said deliberately. “Focus. Do you feel that pain? Hold on to it. Follow it back to yourself. That’s it, Harry,” she praised him as he started to revert. “That’s right. Oh, that’s right, My Beauty!” she beamed.

Harry did not manage to keep his feet this time, and Rainey dropped to his side to pull his head into her lap as the last of his bones snapped and reformed. It made Remus’ skin crawl to see her pet him as if she cared about his well-being, as if she wasn’t the cause of his current pain.

“You always carry an Aconite solution?” Harry croaked, his eyes scrunched shut against a wave of cramps. She barked out a laugh.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Then she ran her hands across him in a way that had nothing to do with comfort, and Remus felt he might be ill. In fact, his nausea seemed to have been growing steadily since the memory began.

“I wonder what your blood tastes like,” she mused aloud, taking advantage of his helplessness by running a fingertip down the pulsing vein in his neck. “Does the Wolf make it bitter, I wonder? Does it change flavour with the phase of the moon? Oh, let me taste you, Harry,” she practically moaned, her hand sweeping down across his chest now through the rents in his clothing which had burst at the seams during his transformation. “I’ll let you taste me,” she offered, her tone dripping with insinuation. “I’d let you taste me wherever you liked. Have you ever tasted a woman, Harry?” she asked, her head cocked and dipping slowly toward him. Remus felt Severus stiffen beside him.

“We’re sweeter than men. Smoother,” she said, pouting her lips in a mimed kiss, and Severus’ fingers bit almost painfully into Remus’ forearm. “We could taste each other. The boys never have to know.”

Remus could have sworn he heard Severus growl, but to both their relief, Harry clumsily extricated himself from her. She made no move to stop him, only cocked a wily half-smile as he scrambled a short distance away and laboriously propped himself against a nearby tree.

“You’re completely mad,” he panted, spent from the effort of escape.

“Ha! Not completely, or they’d never have let me near the children,” she smirked, draping her arm over one knee. “But I don’t deny it. Some of us, Lovely, the First Dark never releases entirely,” she conceded with a shrug. “This, however,” she said, looking him up and down, “this is not madness. This is simply enthusiasm. You do inspire it, you know. You’re quite the specimen.”

“We can’t continue this,” Harry said with a shake of his head, apparently choosing not to acknowledge her lewdness. “They’ll know. I cannot hide this, Cobs.”

“Nonsense,” she answered, waving off the comment as she rose to her feet. “Werewolves heal remarkably quickly, a process you can expedite further by drinking blood. Fresh vitality heals a vampire almost as quickly as the wolf’s metabolism, and when you combine the two, well...you might not be indestructible, Lovely,” she said, sauntering closer to him, “but you are remarkably resilient.”

She crouched down next to him, and her expression turned far soberer than Remus was accustomed to seeing it.

“If you can handle the pain, there isn’t much else for you to fear, Harry.”

The two of them locked eyes, and Remus had a feeling they all knew what was crossing the young man’s mind.

Harry could indeed endure pain. Remus sometimes worried that he craved it in an unhealthy way which wasn’t confined to the bedroom. It was almost as if Harry felt that he deserved it, that he had failed their fallen friends and escaped without due punishment, and so he relished any chance he encountered to punish himself.

“Wait here,” she told him, darting off into the forest.

Harry rested against his tree while she was gone, plainly overwhelmed and processing all of the night’s events. His turmoil played on his face as his thoughts raced. He was so lost in them, he didn’t hear Rainey return and was startled when she dropped a struggling weasel into his lap. He was too surprised to prevent its escape, and Rainey strode swiftly to recapture the thing with a shake of her head.

“We’ve clearly got a long road ahead despite your wondrous potential,” she tsked as Harry curled his lip at the poor, writhing creature in her grasp. “Don’t turn up your nose, Lovely. This is your life now,” she chided, tossing it back to him. He managed to keep hold of it this time but held it away from him.

“Close enough, isn’t it?” she asked. Harry gave her an annoyed look. “Here, might this make it easier?” she said, waving her wand. The colour of the small animal’s fur slowly faded, leaving it white as snow.

Remus turned a questioning look to Severus who was obviously far less puzzled than Remus was. His eyes were narrowed consideringly and he slowly nodded.

“Like I said, close enough. Weasel, ferret. Essentially the same,” she shrugged. Harry shook his head at her in disgust. “Come now,” she cajoled, dropping to a crouch. “It will make you feel better. And it might also make you feel better, if you know what I mean. Who do you really think might have engineered this? Hm? Who could hold such a deep and abiding grudge against The Boy Who Lived?”

Harry stared at her with a hard expression. “You know something Severus does not?” he asked her flatly. She shook her head and shrugged.

“Only conjecture,” she admitted. “Just eat the damned weasel, Harry. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to explain away the state of you, and dawn is coming fast. Unless you’d like to dig yourself a hole? But good luck with that, weak as you are. I’m not doing it for you.” Then she rose and walked away, without another word, in the direction of Hogwarts.

Remus cast a dirty look after her, as did Harry. The young man stared long at the shadows into which she had disappeared, and then he sighed and considered the small animal in his hands before bringing it, finally, to his fangs.


	11. For He Understands You are in Arms

**Between: Remus**

Remus had just taken the first sip of his freshly brewed tea when he heard the floo. Harry hadn’t left Remus all that long ago, and the man wondered what had pulled him away from their precious Potions Master so soon.

To his surprise, it was Severus who appeared instead, looking frazzled and tearstained as he bypassed the kitchen and looked anxiously up the stairwell. Remus set his cup aside in alarm.

“Severus?”

The vampire turned to him, clearly confused, and aborted his trip upstairs, approaching the kitchen with apprehension.

“Where’s Harry?” he scowled as if accusing Remus of hiding him under his cardigan. Remus returned his wary confusion.

“He went to find you in the lab.”

This answer did not please Severus.

“He did find me,” he said, wringing his hands. “We fought. Worse than ever before,” he confessed. “I thought he’d come here to…” Severus seemed angered by his blush. “I should look for him,” he said, turning to go.

Remus couldn't bear to let him rush off in such a condition. The man’s eyes were red and puffy. He looked lost, desperate, and it unsettled Remus. 

“Severus, you should sit,” Remus countered, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table. 

“No. No, he’s in no state to be alone,” Severus argued, looking as if he wanted to pace but couldn’t decide the direction. The man hadn’t slept properly in days. None of them could for worrying about Harry. They had taken turns hovering outside his door while the Madness continued to cling to him, but there had been nothing to be done but wait. Despite that he was still recovering from the Dark himself, Severus had been unable to be still. Remus knew he’d been in the lab at all hours for days on end. He was a wreck, but he hadn’t betrayed it outwardly until now, just when Remus would have thought they could all finally relax.

“ _Severus,_ ” he said, forcing the man’s scattered attention. “Let him blow off some steam and he’ll come home more level-headed,” he reasoned, gesturing again to the chair. "I don’t know what you fought about, but-"

“It so happens we fought about _you_ and what he’d been up to before he came to find me,” Severus interrupted waspishly. He glared at Remus, but it was tired and half-hearted. 

Remus was shocked, though he wasn’t sure why. He should have known what they had done would not be well received by the Potions Master, especially considering his and Severus' recent exchange. Remus had petitioned the man for peace in this very room just earlier that night, and here he was, provoking him yet again with selfish indiscretion. Harry’s attention had a way of disabling Remus’ common sense. It wasn’t an excuse, though, and Remus was demonstratively remorseful. He prepared himself for a well-deserved rebuke. Severus had every right to call the man on his hypocrisy.

But Severus didn’t bother. In fact, his anger seemed to leave him.

“It really doesn’t matter at this point,” Severus sighed defeatedly, taking a seat. It was not the one Remus had been attempting to direct him to, but it was heartening all the same. “The Dark is too close. I should have had more self-control.”

“Severus, you are exhausted. In every sense," said Remus. The man was far too hard on himself. "You cannot be faulted for being human."

The comment had no noticeable effect. Remus had had no practice in comforting the Potions Master. Though, not for lack of desire, only of opportunity. He changed tact.

"Harry will be fine. The worst is over. He’ll come back soon and you can make amends. We've smothered him, is all.”

Severus shook his head. “His blood may seem settled, but it isn't as simple as that,” he fretted, refusing to be placated. “This soon after the change, he could relapse. There is no telling what he might do. He could harm himself.”

Remus’ first instinct was vehement denial. Then he realised this man had a very different relationship with Harry than he did. As open as the young man was with Remus, there were undoubtedly things Harry shared with Severus alone. Remus’ envy stirred, but he felt certain that someday Harry would be just as intimate with him. And Severus, too, with luck and persistence. The fact remained that Severus might have more cause to worry than Remus knew. 

Not that he intended to let the man dwell in it. Besides, the Harry Remus was acquainted with would never. Would he? 

“He won't,” Remus said as confidently as he could manage, attempting to reassure them both.

“How the bloody hell would you know,” snarled Severus, though the outburst seemed to weary him. “You don't know what it's like when the Blood mutters mayhem and aggression through your veins. When it begs you to cut yourself just so that it sees _something_ bleed.”

“You're right, Severus,” Remus replied. It came out more bitterly than he would have liked. “How could I possibly fathom being slave to a painful magical malady that drives one to self-harm?”

Severus seemed to only just realise to whom he was speaking, and his eyes went sheepishly to the scars streaking Remus’ cheek before he could stop himself. He pulled his gaze to the floor but refrained from answering. Remus sighed.

“Severus, he's young-”

“That is why I worry,” Severus interrupted, still not looking at him.

“He's strong.”

“He's fragile,” Severus argued, his brow creasing.

“He's _fine_ ,” Remus insisted gently. “I would know if he wasn't. He didn't come through the floo, so we know he's gone to the Forest. There's really nowhere else he could go. Perhaps he just wants to be alone.”

“You don’t understand,” said Severus, rising to his feet again, more from panic than anger. “None of you have ever truly understood just how inclined he is to…”

Whatever he was inclined to seemed to cause the man pain, and he grimaced.

“You don’t know how easily seduced he is by the idea of death, Lupin,” Severus explained helplessly. “He’s been courting it since long before this curse befell him. One cannot live for so long under its constant shadow without at least making friends with the idea. He is so easily thrown into the contemplation of it,” he told the werewolf despairingly. “He is both stronger and weaker than any of you know, than any of you _could_ know.”

Remus was not immune to the man’s distress or his point, and he ached to touch Severus in some way to comfort them both. Severus was too frantic for his concern to be unfounded. He seemed to have carried the burden of this understanding for some time, and it obviously wearied him. Remus wasn’t sure what to say to the man. He was too busy wrestling with the possibility that Harry might be a danger to himself. With a sigh, Severus sank back into his seat with no need of convincing.

“You’ve never seen him truly surrender,” Severus said softly, his gaze drifting off to the shadows of the kitchen. He seemed almost to be speaking to himself. Remus wondered if, in his exhaustion and his worry, he had forgotten that it was his archrival he was bearing his heart to. Or perhaps it was because it was Remus that he shared these things, as Remus was the only other person his Dearest Love was intimate with, whether Severus liked it or not. He was the only other person in a position to understand or with need to.

“He’s never been able to show that side of him to anyone else," Severus explained. "You don’t understand how much he needs or craves it. I don’t think he understands it himself, not well enough to convey it to another. And without someone to take that burden from him…” Severus’ face fell to his hand. “I don’t know how I ever thought he could do without me.”  

Remus was shaken. He couldn’t claim to completely understand what Severus was talking about, but it touched him deeply.

“Severus…”

“No one else could ever understand him the way I do,” the man went on. “No one could ever give him what he needs in the same way. It is a responsibility I accepted, and I have failed him,” said Severus firmly with a condemning shake of his head. “It was different before this, though,” he said, looking at Remus finally as if begging his forgiveness. “The war was finally fading from his thoughts, finally relinquishing him. He seemed to be doing so much better and I thought…” He shook his head, at a loss.

“ _Severus_. He is okay,” Remus repeated. They weren't just hollow words. He believed it, despite that he took to heart all Severus had just told him. Severus simply loved the young man too dearly. He was too spent. Weeks of worry were still too close for him to believe it was no longer needed.

“But how can you _know?_ ”

Remus took a seat across from Severus, and without thinking, he reached out a hand to the man, though he managed to stop himself before touching him.

“Our lives are bound to one another,” Remus explained. “If his life force dwindled, it would feel as if a part of me were dying. Trust me, Severus, I’d know.”

The man seemed surprised by this information, and Remus smiled softly at the irony, reclaiming his hand to take up his teacup.

“You know, Severus. It seems that, for a former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and a Potions Master specialising in magical affliction, we know embarrassingly little about each other's conditions.”

Severus reflected on this quietly for a moment.

“The bond is really that strong?”

“It is,” Remus confirmed with a nod of his head before polishing off his tea and rising to pour another.

“He's right,” Severus sighed, lacing his fingers on the tabletop in front of him and wringing them as if trying to twist them off. “I need to simply accept the situation for what it is. I had no right to be upset with him before.”

“No, Severus, he isn't,” Remus apologised. “Neither of us was, and I'm sorry. I simply didn't think. I keep behaving stupidly,” he muttered, shaking his head at himself. “ _He_ is young and impulsive. I should have better judgement. I should help him to have better judgement. You have every right to everything you are feeling. If I were you,” he added, reluctantly but sincerely, “I'd have done me violence long before now. It would have been justified.”

“It isn't as though the thought hadn't crossed my mind,” Severus admitted, but the dirty look that accompanied the comment lacked venom. “But you are important to Harry,” he murmured grudgingly. “It would estrange him.”

Remus gave him a weak, wry smile. “Well, I suppose I should be grateful for anything that acts as a buffer for your hatred of me,” he said, feeling just a touch sorry for himself. Remus' sudden gloom seemed to finally subdue the Potions Master. Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“I don't quite hate you,” he conceded. “I just strongly dislike you,” he clarified with a lift of his eyebrow. “I hate the circumstances.”

“We're a mess, the three of us,” Remus acknowledged, leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

“Harry cannot be faulted for his actions since the attack,” Severus dismissed. Remus smiled to himself. He remembered a time when the young man could do no right in Severus' eyes. Now the man practically twisted himself into knots to justify Harry's bad behaviour.

“You don't know the Madness, Remus. How it drives one, how it skews one's perception,” Severus went on. The werewolf shot him a startled look that went unseen. 

It was the first time the man had ever addressed Remus by his given name, but Severus didn’t seem to notice his lapse.

“In some ways, the Settling is an illusion. He will never be the same. There will always be the danger he will sometimes momentarily succumb to it. Loraina never really ever emerged,” he added sadly, picking absently at some scar on the tabletop.

“You seem to have done well,” Remus pointed out quietly.

Severus glanced up at him and scoffed. “You really did not know me at all before my infection, did you?” He shook his head. “I should have had more patience with Harry. I admit to not understanding entirely this... _bond_ you share. But combined with the volatility of his blood, he has to be overwhelmed. And he's still so young, so inexperienced.”

Remus regarded the vampire for a moment. Severus was still anxious but not frantic, and Remus felt bad that he was almost grateful that his and Harry's falling out had led the man here.

“In many ways, Harry is still a child,” Remus agreed. “He never really was and yet he may always be. His life has simply been too complicated, and I fear neither of us helped to simplify it,” he admitted ruefully. 

“Do me a favour,” Severus said after a reflective silence, surprising Remus who waited with embarrassing eagerness to oblige. “Drink some bloody Firewhisky for me,” he requested with a twist of his lips. “I rarely miss it as much as I do at this moment.”

Remus smiled at the behest and moved immediately to burrow under the sink to find the bottle he’d hidden from himself. He glanced thoughtfully as Severus as he straightened with it in hand. The man was being very open with him, and Remus wondered if he dared return the favour while the opportunity presented itself.

“To be completely honest, Severus,” Remus began hesitantly as he pulled down a tumbler from the cupboard, “until Harry's incident, I'd started to properly hate you.”

“Started?” Severus snorted with a lift of his eyebrow. “And here Harry is under the impression that you hold some vast affection for me.”

“Oh, I do, Severus,” Remus confirmed with a fond look. “Far more than you know. During the war, however, I confess myself rather eaten up with jealousy,” he explained, taking a seat and wresting the stopper from his bottle before pouring himself the drink Severus had ordered. The other man regarded him with reluctant sympathy.

“Were you aware,” Severus told him as if in an offering of understanding, “that after you left Hogwarts, he essentially lived in that damned ugly cardigan of yours?”

Remus met his eye and the men shared a mutually endeared look. Remus had been aware, but the reminder warmed him. Harry was surprisingly and preciously sentimental.

“It would not surprise me if he bathed in it,” Severus said with a small smile. “I found it touching,” he admitted quietly. “Disturbing, but moving.”

“Are _you_ aware he still has that robe of yours we rescued him in?” Remus asked, far less charmed by the gesture than Severus had been. Judging by his shocked expression, the man had not known. “He never even washed it,” the werewolf sighed, finishing his drink and pouring another before elaborating. “He doesn’t know I’m aware that he takes it down and fondles it sometimes when the two of you have a falling out, as if reminding himself of how you used to be.”

Severus was rendered near breathless by this knowledge. Unmistakably moved.

“I confess I've wanted to burn it several times over the past couple of years,” Remus said, to other man’s consternation. He sipped his drink and ignored Severus’ bewildered scowl.

“Whenever he'd come to stay and I'd see the light in his eyes shining a bit dimmer each time, I'd take it from the top of his closet, and the spell would be just on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn't bring myself to do that to him,” Remus said softly as if he still slightly regretted his lack of courage. “He'd made his choice; for good or ill, right or wrong. I was simply so frustrated,” he said, puffing out a sigh. “And so confused. You'd loved him so vehemently when we were all headed for an early grave,” Remus scowled, vague accusation in his tone.

Severus’ scowl melted and he looked away, not quite shamefaced but receptive to what the other man was saying.

“You fueled him, kept him striving, kept his darkness at bay. And as intensely as I envied the two of you for that passion, I silently thanked you every day for it.”

Severus raised a shocked look.

“You saved his life, Severus,” Remus told him plainly. “But for you, I don't think he'd have survived the war. Not intact. Not in the ways that mattered,” he said, quietly polishing off his drink. “But then you started slowly killing him,” he went on less forgivingly, considering the bottle that sat temptingly close at hand as it had too often since the war ended. “He was reluctant to speak of it, but I knew something was wrong with the two of you,” Remus said, deciding on another drink, after all. “And each time I saw him, I resented you a little more for taking him for granted. For letting something so rare and precious wither. For gradually wearing away that resilience that made him so remarkable.”

Unlike all the times he’d rehearsed this in his head before, drunk and angry and anguished after Harry’d left him yet again to return to the man, Remus wasn’t actually trying to wound Severus now. Intentional or not, the vampire was undoubtedly cut by Remus’ words.

“Of course, I didn't truly understand the situation," Remus said, once again extending the olive branch, "and I suspected as much at the time. But I will confess that hating you made it easier to justify to myself any liberties I might have taken with Harry, and that I continued to use it as an excuse for my transgressions long after I knew my understanding to be flawed.”

Because it _had_ been flawed, Remus reminded himself. Not that he felt it excused the damage the man had inflicted, but Severus’ admissions at Harry’s sickbed had cast his actions in a new light. Remus wouldn’t say he forgave Severus for his ill-judgement, but he at least found it impossible to hate him for it any longer.

“I never intended to hurt him,” Severus insisted, seemingly sick with regret. “I never thought he'd _stay_ , Remus,” he explained feebly, as if he couldn’t quite understand how it had come to pass. “I kept preparing myself for the day it would all inevitably come crashing down. As it should have. As it was meant to. I wasn't trying to wound him, I simply was trying not to encourage him,” Severus said, sadly shaking his head. “But of all the darkness I've faced in my life, the prospect of losing him was the most daunting,” he confessed, his eyes falling closed with remembered dread. “I couldn't bring myself to do it properly. I tried so many times, and my courage always failed me.”

“I understand, Severus,” Remus assured him, not happily but forgivingly. “And I think it makes you a fool but not a villain. I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now. And so does he, Severus,” Remus added encouragingly. “I don't tell you these things to hurt you, I simply thought you should know how deeply you hurt _him_. Because I have a feeling that the argument the two of you had tonight is a symptom of that. It isn't something you simply let go of. It has to let go of you. I know he's trying to move past it. He loves you so desperately. Desperate being the key word.”

Severus seemed troubled but grateful for the insight. “How did it all come to this?” he sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face. “How does one cock up so badly without even realising it at the time?”

“We've all been arseholes, Severus. We're all broken. But,” Remus added more optimistically, setting aside his drink and picking back up his teacup, “perhaps between the three of us we can find enough sturdy pieces left to build something lasting. Unless something drastic happens-”

“Something else, you mean?” Severus interjected with a sardonic lift of his eyebrow. Remus smiled. He wasn’t sure if the firewhisky was assisting his mood or if he really was just that smitten with the droll bastard.

“Unless something _else_ drastic happens,” Remus conceded, rising to pour himself a cuppa from the pot cooling on the counter, “our circumstances stand to remain unchanged for quite some time. I don't want to be your enemy, Severus. I know we'll never be to each other what I hope,” he said, his mood dimming momentarily, “but I would settle for being your friend. If you'd let me.”

“And if I won't?” Severus asked as if being argumentative merely out of habit. Remus shrugged.

“Then we’ll continue to make each other increasingly miserable until we implode completely. And Harry gets left to tidy the rubble,” he said flatly, sipping his cold tea.

“For Harry. You're fond of that line.” 

“Don't pretend you aren't, as well.”

Severus threw him a disgruntled looked but had nothing to counter with. “I might consider it,” he muttered. “But as for the rest,” he added, softening. “I can’t change the past, but perhaps I can make up for it.”

Remus nodded his agreement.

“For a start, I can apologise for tonight,” Severus said as if making up his mind and reaching for his resolve. 

“Absolutely not,” Remus replied firmly, puzzling the other man. He’d merely wanted to enlighten Severus to the depth of the damage caused by his past missteps so that he and Harry could knowledgeably work through it. He’d not been trying to convince Severus they merited his being the young man’s doormat.

“I mean it, Severus, don’t you dare. I should have turned Harry down when he propositioned me earlier. But I also should not have had to," he pointed out. "It’s high time Harry learned prudence. What he is now is too dangerous for him to continue to behave so carelessly.”  

Severus nodded uncertainly as if he saw the truth in Remus’ statement but was unaccustomed to the concept. “You think I’ve coddled him,” he divined.

“I think we all have,” Remus clarified. “And how could anyone blame us? I, for one, was sickeningly certain he would not live to see eighteen. But he has. It’s high time he grew up,” Remus said, giving Severus a hopefully fortifying look. “And it’s time we saw to it that he did.”

Remus was still waiting for Severus’ acknowledgement when they heard someone floo into the sitting room. Though Remus had done his best to banish it, Severus’ anxiety returned, almost as intense as it had been when he first arrived.

“Let him apologise to you, Severus,” Remus coached, giving him a stern but reassuring nod. The Potions Master didn’t seem wholly convinced of that plan of action, but he reached for his suddenly elusive self-possession.

The sight of Harry, though, when he did appear in the doorway, almost stripped the self-control from both of them. Severus gasped softly and made a move to rise, but Remus laid a hand lightly on his shoulder in solidarity. He hadn’t entirely expected the man to take his advice, especially considering Harry’s alarming state, but Severus quietly collected himself and settled back into his seat.

But they were both rattled. The young man was filthy, mud-caked and littered with dead leaves. His clothes were ripped to shreds. They reminded Remus of something he couldn’t put his finger on but that instilled a deep unease. Harry appeared unhurt, though. Remus wasn’t sure if the young man was genuinely not self-aware or if he’d come home in such a state intentionally to manipulate Severus’ feelings, but he disapproved either way. 

Harry gave Remus an appropriately sheepish look, but then his attention turned to Severus. Remus realised he’d not removed his hand from the man’s shoulder, but having noticed it, he left it there. He knew how distracting the young man’s gaze could be, and Harry stared at Severus so intently, so tenderly. Remus was not about to let the man cave to his instinct, no matter how Remus wanted to scoop the young man up himself. They couldn’t keep perpetuating this behaviour. They had to stand strong together. They couldn’t make concessions until Harry did so first.

They weren’t given the opportunity. Without a word, Harry gave them both a disappointed look and turned to leave. Remus was shocked. He knew the young man to be often though unintentionally selfish, but he really thought Harry would make _some_ effort to mend things. Could he not see the pain his lover was in? Could he not be the first to apologise?

“ _Harry_ ,” Remus chided, about to call the young man back, but Severus stopped him.

“No,” he told Remus softly. “Leave him.”

The defeat in Severus’ voice almost brought tears to Remus’ eyes. The man deserved better. And for perhaps the first time in their lives, Remus was really and properly angry with Harry.

As the young man disappeared upstairs, Severus rose wearily to his feet. He seemed diminished. His anxiety was gone. Harry was home and unharmed and there was no more reason for him to worry, perhaps. But the man’s subdued demeanour spoke of more than just the absence of agitation.

“Severus,” Remus ventured softly, apologetically, feeling _someone_ should beg the man’s pardon, if Harry couldn’t be brought to it. Severus simply shook his head, not bothering with a parting glance, and walked mournfully to the floo.

Remus couldn’t help but feel guilty. He still thought his advice was sound, but he never imagined Harry would simply turn his back on them; on _Severus,_ especially when the man was so obviously fragile. But Severus was right. Scolding the young man would do no good. If they wanted him to act like an adult, they had to treat him as one. 

Still, Remus couldn’t stop himself from knocking on Harry’s door on his way to bed later. He was unsure whether or not he was relieved when it did not open, and all the things Remus wanted to say to the young man stewed in his head, along with an indignation so strong it drove off sleep for hours.   

 


	12. In Wrongful Quarrel

**Before: Severus**

Severus returned to Grimmauld Place frustrated. After several stressful days, he still had no new information regarding what the Dark Lord might have gleaned from Potter’s head while he was in the wardrobe. Instead, Severus had spent most of his time trying to dissuade the Lord from his latest ambition of making a new attempt to lure the Romanians to his cause. The bastard had actually had the audacity to suggest Severus should be the one to return to the arseholes who’d ruined his life and try to strike a deal. Severus tried to convince him that they had even less to offer the Coven than last time and that returning might provoke them. But though he seemed to listen closely to Severus’ counsel, he could tell the Dark Lord had decided his course of action before even broaching the subject with Severus. Unlike last time, Lord Voldemort actually needed their help.

All in all, it was a fruitless trip. Severus could not bring up the matter of the Dark Lord’s connection to the boy because he wasn’t meant to know about it. Confirmation of its existence had not been shared with his Death Eaters, not even with Severus. Before, the Dark Lord had simply assured them all that the boy would turn up at the Department of Mysteries with no explanation as to why. And Albus had not wanted the Dark Lord to know the Order was aware of the link, so Severus had told him only that Potter was a stubborn brat who refused to share his motivations for running off to London unaccompanied.

It made Severus’ job of mining for information nearly impossible, but the advantages of the deception far outweighed the disadvantages. First and foremost, it gave them the opportunity to attempt to teach the boy Occlumency without raising the Dark Lord’s suspicions. But according to Albus, they weren’t making much headway. As they had suspected, the Headmaster was not suited to the task. It would have to be up to Severus.

He found Potter in their unofficial classroom, peeking through the curtains, obviously waiting for Albus to arrive. For a moment Severus simply watched him, and the weight of responsibility he felt was almost crushing. Despite his combative spirit, this boy was no warrior. Severus had entered the room without him noticing. Even before his infection, no one would have been able to sneak up on Severus in this way. The boy was an innocent, merely reacting to the events that surrounded him, and not even reacting well.

He must learn. He must become ready. He must become more like Severus, the man reflected, and no one had ever gone easy on the Slytherin.

Severus reached behind him and opened and closed the door again, making enough noise this time for Potter to notice, and to Severus’ absolute aggravation, the boy still did not spring at the sound. Instead, he moved to unhurriedly close the curtains. It was unacceptable. Regardless of whether Grimmauld Place was meant to be a safe space, Potter needed to be more cautious.

Severus cast Legilimens before the boy even bothered to turn around, seizing memories at random.

 _A Muggle dining room on someone’s birthday. Potter had been given rice crackers instead of cake. His rotund relative cackled through his icing at the smaller boy’s longing expression_.

The brat must have done something serious to be denied cake at a birthday party in punishment. Whatever it was, Severus had no doubt the sentence was well deserved. He moved to another memory.

_Potter leaning back against a stall in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom while Granger brewed Polyjuice within._

Severus seethed remembering the theft of his potions ingredients. As if lacewing flies weren’t a significant chunk of his annual budget for N.E.W.T.-level students. The little criminals. Severus was too angered by the vision to linger in it. 

_Potter’s first glimpse of Severus, glowering at him from the staff table during the Sorting Ceremony his first year at Hogwarts._

Severus was taken aback enough by the memory to release the boy from his spell. He remembered the moment clearly, though he had not thought of it for a while. Severus was usually so guarded. He hadn’t realised his distaste had been written so clearly in his expression at the time. Severus had known the child would be attending, it was all the staff had gossipped about for months beforehand. But setting eyes on the boy had shaken Severus in a way he hadn’t understood at the time. He couldn’t reflect on it at the moment, however.

Severus walked over to the young man who was stirring beneath the curtains. He’d fallen to the floor when Severus cast, pulling the things down on top of him. Potter groaned on seeing the Potions Master, and Severus sneered his disappointment in the boy’s performance down at him.

"I see you have learned precious little in my absence," said Severus. "Not that I had hoped for much else," he muttered, nudging at the puddle of fabric at his toe.

Potter scowled at him as he pushed himself to his knees. "That wasn't fair," he complained to the buttons on Severus' waistcoat. "You didn't even give me a chance to-"

"Am I mistaken, or did the word _fair_ just pass your lips?" Severus snorted, making no move to help Potter to his feet. "You, of all people, should know that fairness is a farcical concept best reserved for fairytales and children's stories. We live in the real world, Mister Potter. _Legilimens_." 

Potter was still teetering on one knee, midway through his struggle to a standing position, when he was sent crashing back to the floor.

_A sour-faced, middle-aged woman in a hideous flowered blouse, inflated like a balloon and floating near the ceiling._

_A tomato-nosed House Elf in the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup._

_A white ferret dangling in the air._

"Damn it!" Potter grimaced, rolling to his back. It was as if the boy was making no effort at all!

"Do you think the _Dark Lord_ is going to be so gracious as to allow you to draw your wand or even gain your bearings if he can prevent it?" Severus said nastily. "Get up!" he barked, pulling his wand back and drawing breath to cast the spell again.

Potter plunged his hand into his robes and withdrew his own wand, casting a disarming spell before the word could pass Severus' lips. The man gave a kind of growl low in his throat. He was unable, at times, to fully repress his vampiric impulses.

" _That's_ more like it," he snarled, his harsh tone belying the praising words.

As he stalked over to retrieve his wand, Potter scrambled to his feet, his own wand prone on the stooped Potions Master. But Severus only straightened and stared daggers at Potter as the boy brushed the grey dirt from his new trousers and righted his clothes, running his free hand through his hair to remove it from his eyes. Both of them were breathing heavily as if meaning to blast their animosity toward the other with each exhalation. Though Severus's wand lay slack in the hand at his side, Potter refused to relax his guard.

"Was that _really_ necessary?" Potter asked sharply.

"You think it wasn't?" Severus replied, lips tensing to near invisibility. "The Dark Lord is plotting your demise, traipsing through your thoughts and memories like a housewife _doing the daily shop_ , and you think my teaching is _unnecessary?_ " he hissed.

"I didn't mean the Occlumency! I meant you sneaking up on me when you know I'm not advanced enough to defend myself," Potter snapped angrily. "And stop making it sound like I've sent Voldemort an invitation or something."

"Your refusal to cooperate with me is just as good _as_ an invitation to the Dark Lord."

"Who says I'm not cooperating!" Potter objected, growing increasingly peevish. " _Listen,_ just because you're in a shite mood after visiting with Lord Thingy doesn't mean-"

" _What_ did-you-just-say?" Severus hissed, his hand tightening on his wand until his knuckles whitened, his eyes glinting dangerously.

The comment momentarily robbed him of breath, he was so infuriated. What in hell did the little shit think Severus was _doing? Why_ did he think he was doing it? As if Severus _liked_ tossing out his dignity and all sense of decency and bowing down to a deranged madman! The spell left his wand before he could even consider the wisdom of it. It struck Potter in the chest like a fist, knocking him backwards and off his feet. He blinked up at Severus, unable to speak and so waving his hands in a silent plea for ceasefire.

"I have warned you before not to treat mention of the Dark Lord with such disrespect," Severus spat, leaning down over him.

If the boy had seen only half of the atrocities Severus had witnessed being committed at the Dark Lord’s hand, he would not dare to make light of him, even in his thoughts. Severus had no sympathy for the boy’s lack of breath, not when he so regularly placed himself in mortal danger of that monster in cleaning up after Potter’s mistakes.

"Do you think this is a game?" he demanded, taking Potter's shirtfront in his fist. "Do you think we're simply playing _tag_ with the most powerful and ruthless Dark Wizard to ever walk the earth? You _naive_ , impervious little..." Severus had to literally bite his tongue, desperately trying to rein in his temper. "Do you have any idea what he wants to do to you?"

" _Yeah_ ," Potter sputtered, finally finding his breath. "I thought the idea was to kill me. Though, it looks like you're trying to beat him to it," he shot, looking down at his own collar bunched in Severus' iron grip.

The man gave him a particularly cold, ugly sneer and released him abruptly, flinging Potter away from him so that the back of the boy's head struck the floor. He straightened slowly and brushed the front of his robes.

"You should be so lucky," he spat. Clearly, the boy did not understand the extent of the Dark Lord’s sadistic inclinations, how long he would prolong Potter’s suffering if the boy fell into his hands, or the horror Severus would face if his betrayal were revealed. Though, Severus doubted the boy cared about that, should the possibility even occur to him.

Potter rubbed at his neck where his collar had chaffed him and propped himself on one elbow. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry for calling him that, alright?...Professor Snape?"

The apology almost sounded sincere, and Severus took a calming breath. He swept his eyes coolly over Potter's sprawled form before commanding him calmly and sneeringly to, "Get up... _Mister Potter_." 

Apprehensively, the boy did as he was told, and Severus waited until he was standing to continue.

"Prepare yourself," he told him, raising his wand.

"But...I've lost my wand," Potter said with a note of panic, eyeing Severus' and taking a small, tentative step away from it.

"And just what good do you think it would do you?" Severus asked, wearied by Potter's simplicity. The boy's eyebrows knit and his bottom lip pouted in distress.

"If you don't think I can do this," he complained, "then why are we even bothering with-"

"You misunderstand my point," Severus drawled, casting Potter a withered look. "You are not preparing yourself against me. Ideally, you are preparing yourself against the Dark Lord. The attack will be internal, your wand will be of no use to you. You must learn to rely on the strength of your mind alone to repel the attack."

"But Dumbledore said you told him I shouldn’t meditate," Potter argued. "I haven't been. So, I can't fight it without-"

"I know perfectly well what I told you. And I know perfectly well what I am doing. I'm the Master here, remember? Now prepare yourself," Severus said, wand already rising.

"No wait!" Potter cried, but it was too late.

_The reptile house at the London Zoo._

_Miss Chang sitting across the table beyond a veil of raining, pink, heart-shaped confetti._

_James and Lily Potter smiling from within the Mirror of Erised._

The last would have been a useful memory for the Dark Lord to exploit.

"Fight it!" Severus shouted. "Now. _Again!_ "

_Lupin sleeping on the Hogwarts Express._

_Diggory's shade asking Potter to return his body to Hogwarts_.

It was just getting worse.

"Damn it, Potter. What did I tell you!" Severus growled angrily.

Potter gazed up at him from the floor, his eyed glazed, desperate and dreading. Severus felt a pang. He knew he was being severe, but the boy _must_ learn this skill. All their lives depended on it.  

"Again! Fight it."

"I can't!" Potter cried as Severus' wand cut through the air to cast again. Severus halted.

"You won't,” he insisted, resisting the silent entreaty in Potter’s eyes. “You must try," he said desperately, preparing to continue through with the spell.

"No! I can't," Potter wailed. "Stop it! This...this is pointless!" he shouted in frustration. "I can't do this," he repeated to himself, rolling to his stomach to hide his face in his arms. He seemed near to tears.

Severus was more shaken by the sight than he wanted to admit to himself. He'd expected cheek and defiance. He wasn't prepared for despair and defeat. Severus had really thought, if he pushed him hard enough, the boy would succeed simply out of spite in order to prove the Potions Master wrong. Regardless, the boy could not be allowed to give up. It may require a different tact, but Potter had no choice but to learn this skill.

"Get up," Severus said firmly.

"No."

"Excuse me?" said Severus, eyebrows rising.

"I told you. I can't do this," Potter whined, not looking at him.

But he could. Despite the impression he gave the boy, Severus knew he could, or he wouldn’t be bothering with him in the first place. They _had_ made progress the last time. Severus wracked his brain. What had he done during their last session that had inspired it?

"So," Severus scoffed. " _This_ is the expectancy and rose of the fair state. The boy who aspired to train a juvenile army to do battle with the Dark Lord himself cannot even manage elementary Occlumency," he said with cold, jeering condescension, trying to provoke a response. "That your godfather was the only one lost during that little crusade of yours is indeed most fortunate."

"You would consider Sirius dying fortunate," Potter spat venomously, peeking from the fold of his arm to glower at him. Severus only arched an eyebrow and sucked his tongue. Perhaps now they were getting somewhere.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Potter said in a low voice, fixing him with a searing, suspicious look.

"Enjoying what exactly?" Severus asked incredulously. If he wasn’t so terrified of the consequences of his failure here, he might have laughed.

"Torturing me," Potter said as if convinced of it now. Severus crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. The boy's melodrama was causing him a headache.

"Circumstance requires that you learn this skill, and apparently _I_ am the only one qualified to see that you do so. I didn't exactly volunteer for this nightmarish undertaking with bubbling enthusiasm. I assure you that in no part of this arrangement do I find enjoyment, Mister Potter."

The boy pushed himself to a sitting position and gave Severus a look that said he knew better and was offended that Severus would so insult his intelligence.

"Why won't you just admit it?" Harry challenged. "You're still bitter about what Sirius and my father did to you, but since they aren't around anymore you're taking it out on me. You hated them."

"You can hardly blame me," Severus said tersely through pursed lips. "You were in the Pensieve." Severus' features darkened as anger at the memory of Potter's trespass washed over him afresh. "You witnessed their cruelty."

"But _I_ didn't do those things to you!" Potter said, leaning forward and placing a hand on his breast to punctuate the statement. " _I've_ never done anything to you. Why? Why do you hate me?" he cried, desperation and a genuine desire to understand infecting the frustration in his voice. "Why have you _always_ hated me?"

Potter's voice broke on those last words, but his gaze remained true, and it pierced the Potions Master straight to his heart.

Severus kept his gaze steady, as well, but he took his time considering his answer to the boy’s question.

He didn’t _hate_ Harry. Did he? He resented his disrespect and his sense of entitlement, his constant suspicion despite the lengths Severus went to on his behalf. But then he recalled Potter’s memory of him from the Sorting Ceremony, and Severus reluctantly acknowledged to himself he’d certainly given the boy little reason to believe better of him.

Severus mentally reviewed their history, trying to mark just when he’d started properly disliking the boy - what Harry had done to inspire it - and Severus rather drew a blank. It was true he’d done little to endear himself to the professor, but considering the boy’s limited understanding of the situations in which he found himself, with the exception of trespassing on his memories the year prior, there wasn’t much Potter had done that merited the vehemence of Severus’ ire.

After a silence so long Potter seemed despaired of a response, Severus reluctantly answered him, his voice as stiff as his posture.

"It's true, Mister Potter. I hated Black, and I _loathed_ your father."

The boy looked slightly taken aback. He straightened and regarded Severus uncertainly.

"It's also true that I hate what I see of your father in you - which is far too much, I might add - and I hate the dangerous influence that inheritance has had. I hate a great many things, Mister Potter," Severus went on. "I hate continuously risking my life for an ungrateful whelp of a boy who does not seem to possess the sense to not be shepherded, almost wistfully, into one _blatant_ trap after another,” he spat. “I _hate_ knowing that this behaviour is the result of the way you have been alternately sheltered or else left completely to your own devices your entire life with grossly impractical proportion and timing. I hate fate. And necessity. I hate circumstance. But no,” he concluded much more softly, as if to himself as much as to the boy, “I do not hate you, Mister Potter."

Harry looked up at the Potions Master’s severe expression, at a loss for words. Neither of them seemed to know what to do now.

Severus was as unsettled by the admission as Harry appeared to be. He disliked it. He disliked the sneaking suspicion that he’d been unfair to the boy. And he was uncomfortable considering, for the first time, that his reaction to him might be more complicated than his frustration at the boy’s actions. It was something Severus would need to carefully consider.

But not here. Not now.

Severus heaved a sigh. "Well," he said shortly, ready to be away and to ponder the matter, "I feel that is enough for one night. It's already quite late and I believe you have a train to catch in the morning. We shall continue this when you arrive at Hogwarts."

Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Severus was already passing through the door, leaving so swiftly and silently he may as well not even have been corporeal. He practically flew down the steps and out the door, growing steadily more disturbed the more he examined the situation.

If Severus didn’t really hate Harry Potter, then why in hell did Severus hate Harry Potter?


	13. As Punishment for His Most Wicked Life

**Before: Severus**

As he ran, Severus could still hear Bellatrix’ gleeful cackle when she had informed the Dark Lord that the Mark had been cast and the Dementors deployed. Severus had been careful not to look alarmed, merely curiously impressed, as Voldemort had given the mad bitch a fond, indulgent smile and then nodded for Severus to run along and gather a report on the damage.

The Potions Master’s cool facade dissolved instantaneously upon Apparating to the gates of Hogwarts, and he sprinted now, as fast as he could, for the Headmaster’s office, grateful that the current absence of students allowed him to use his preternatural speed.

Loraina was already there when Severus burst inside, not slowing until he’d doubled over Dumbledore’s desk.

“ _Have you heard_ _?_ ” he asked urgently.

Obviously, Albus hadn’t, or else they would not look so shocked by Severus’ arrival, but just at that moment, a face appeared in the Headmaster’s floo, and they all turned their horrified attention to it.

The conductor of the Express spoke frantically via his firebox, his voice and image cutting in and out. Chaos blared intermittently in the background as the connection threatened to fail completely. Death Eaters had appeared on the tracks, he was able to convey. They had somehow jammed his floo signal, so he had not been able to call for help until just that moment. Albus’ face turned as ashen as those of his vampiric companions. The Hogwarts Express was beset by Dementors, and there were too few adults on board to repel the attack.

Before the link was lost, Albus demanded and received the train’s location, then he moved quickly from behind his desk and took Severus and Loraina each by the wrist and Disapparated. It had not been precise, and they were still hundreds of feet from the nearest car, but they elected to cast and send their Patronuses on ahead of them as they ran rather than Apparate closer.

The scene was unusually quiet. Only a few Dementors could be seen, flying out of windows or from between carriages. They did not swarm, and not in the numbers the rescuers had expected. The trio couldn't stop to try to make sense of it.

Loraina, looking far more excited than was appropriate, abruptly Disapparated to inside the train. Severus felt he should follow. She was much too swept away in the hunt. But he spotted a burst of colour just beside the tracks and moved in that direction instead. A lone student was being hovered over by one of the lingering Dementors. Severus sprinted ahead of the Headmaster, reaching the boy just as their Patronuses flushed the monster away. Once he was no longer shrouded by the Dementor's shredded cloak, Severus recognised the young man instantly, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.

Had they arrived in time? Had Loraina’s spider scared the thing away, or was it leaving because it was sated on Harry’s soul?        

The young man looked subdued and vacant as Severus, heart hammering, wrenched him from the ground; but he also met Severus’ eye, which he would not have done if he no longer possessed his soul.

"What in bloody hell is wrong with you?" Severus demanded harshly. He was almost too overwhelmed with panic to process the situation, but he nonetheless held Harry at arm's length and inspected him for injury. His aversion to the boy was strong, and the sensation was disturbingly familiar, but Severus noted it and then ignored it.

"Were you just going to sit there, wand-in-hand, and let the accursed thing kiss you?" he asked, taking Harry's face roughly in hand to examine it.

The young man did not respond, and it was worrying, but his breathing was full and steady and his colour was slowly returning in the Dementor’s absence. He had not been kissed. He was still whole.

Gradually, Severus allowed himself to relax, releasing in a huff a breath he hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding. Before he could succumb to the urge to allow his shaking knees to fail him, though, Severus’ eyes were caught by Harry's. The boy had been staring at him the entire time, he realised, and the expression on his face struck Severus like a fist to the stomach.

The man had taught countless students, watched an endless parade of children pass through his classroom and his House. Many of them were haunted by difficult home lives, as he had been, and several were from Death Eater families, and Severus knew for a fact they had seen horrors. But the Potions Master had rarely seen the kind of desolation he recognised in Harry’s eyes save for when he looked in his own mirror, and he’d certainly never seen it in one so young.

"Severus," Dumbledore called from the darkness behind him, jolting the man to his senses. Realising he still cupped Harry's chin in his palm, Severus released him abruptly, but his hand still tingled where they had touched, and the sensation spread up his forearm...to his Mark. He gave Harry one last, uncertain look before stepping aside for the Headmaster.

"He appears to be intact," Severus reported, still disconcerted, taking another small step away from Harry. Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief and placed a heavy hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Excellent. Though it hardly surprises me," he smiled proudly. "Professor Cobbleshot has just been informing me of the marvellous way in which you and your friends defended the others during the attack," he said.

Severus looked to Loraina. He’d have to speak to her later about what she found on the train, but at the moment, her attention was glued to Harry, and the intensity of it made Severus slightly uncomfortable.

"I can't tell you-"

"Ron," Harry interrupted Albus in a dull voice, his eyes trailing away from the Headmaster's.

Albus' smile disappeared and he and Severus shared a dreading glance. They waited patiently for the young man to elaborate, though Severus felt his stomach sink. They all knew what they were about to hear. 

"Ron," Harry repeated shakily. "He...They..."

Harry's wand slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground, and Harry himself teetered as though he might follow. Severus rushed forward and caught him easily beneath the arms. It was clear Harry wouldn't be able to support himself.

Severus groaned in rueful sympathy for the young man’s loss. No wonder he’d seen such despondence in him. However, comfort was not the man’s strong suit, so he simply held Harry upright. Albus stared at the boy, and Severus could see the man’s heart breaking for an instant before he snapped into action.

"Severus, come with me," said Albus, already turning toward the train. "Rainey, see to Harry. Get him back onboard," he instructed.

Severus handed Harry hastily over to Loraina in order to follow, a bit surprised at how quickly the old man could still move. He did so with apprehension considering the situation, considering the link, but Harry seemed almost catatonic. It should be safe.

Severus swept into the carriage behind the Headmaster to find the corridor packed with milling students. He stopped just inside the door to urge them to disperse, but Albus made a beeline for the compartment they all seemed to be staring at, from which weeping could be heard.  

“This way. Go on,” Severus directed gently, pointing children to other parts of the train. “Someone will be around shortly to speak with you all, but right now we need to clear this carriage.” 

They filed out, sullen and surprisingly obedient. Most were too saddened to even look at the man, but a first-year boy with impossibly large, tear-filled eyes spontaneously hugged Severus around his middle as he passed. Severus scowled and stood with his arms suspended at his sides, confused. No doubt the boy would learn soon enough from the other students that the Potions Master was not the cuddle bear the small boy mistook him for. For now, though, Severus simply grimaced and patted him awkwardly on the head before peeling him off and ushering him along.

The rest of the gathering looked to disperse without further direction, and so Severus reluctantly stepped inside the compartment into which the Headmaster had disappeared. The scene was disturbing in the extreme, and Severus hadn’t even particularly liked the boy. He could only imagine how crushing it must have been to Harry moments ago. Albus knelt on the floor. He cradled Weasley’s unseeing shell in one arm and used his other to comfort Granger as she clung to the front of his robes. She cried softly and steadily, but Severus could tell she’d recently been far more distraught.

Short of Harry himself being kissed, which they had only very narrowly averted, this was the absolute worst thing that could have happened. No doubt the Dark Lord would be pleased, Severus thought disgustedly. He bent to lift Weasley from Albus’ arms so he could devote his attention to the girl, but Granger reached out to cling to the redhead’s jumper, preventing Severus from bearing him away.

“It’s alright, Hermione,” Albus soothed, gently prying her fingers from the boy’s shirt. “We’ll take care of him now. You’ve done so well to watch over him until we arrived.”

“It was my fault,” she whispered between sobs.

“No, no,” Albus told her, wrapping his now-free arm around her and patting her gently on the back. “You did not send the Dementors, my dear girl. We may have lost Ron, but you fought very bravely. You saved countless other lives.”

“But Ron-”

“Is beyond our reach now, dear.”

Albus continued to console her, speaking softly in her ear as Severus rose with the boy and backed silently from the compartment. He carried him outside, checking to make sure Harry was no longer there before stepping to the ground.

It was eerily quiet. For a moment, Severus simply stood there with the gangly ginger draped across his arms, not looking at him but up at the sky where the faintest wisp of green still lingered. He closed his eyes and let the breeze lift his hair, wishing it were a gale, wishing something, anything, could rinse away this shame from him: that he could be associated with such monsters; that he bore on his skin, forever, the symbol of terror that had so recently hung on this horizon.

Severus told himself he was doing all he could to remedy his mistakes, that this is why he did what he did and would continue to do what he does. But the weight of the body in his arms was proof that he had not yet done enough, and at that moment Severus truly felt he would never redeem himself and that Albus was right to impose on him as he did. Perhaps the man was even far too lenient.

Severus, full of resentment for his arsehole of a Muggle father, bitter to sickness at the transgressions of his classmates, had been _so_ eager to prove himself to the bigger bully, thinking he would finally find himself in a position of power over those who had tormented him. _He_ had been the one to deliver the prophecy to the Dark Lord which had fueled that madman’s obsession and robbed Harry of his parents. Now that same obsession had taken the young man’s best friend. _Severus_ was responsible for the continued threat to Harry’s life, and so it was up to him to ensure the young man weathered the onslaught until he was old enough and strong enough to end it once and for all. Perhaps, if he could manage that…

Severus would not dare to hope for forgiveness. He did not deserve it, least of all from Harry Potter, and perhaps not even from himself. Severus took a deep breath and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts to carry Ron Weasley’s still breathing remains solemnly to the Castle. Each slow step renewed his resolve to protect the Boy Who Lived and to prepare himself to deal with the latest consequences of the worst decision of his life.  

 


	14. Yet Every Mother Breeds Not Sons Alike

**Before: Severus**

_Why does he insist on being a pain in the arse?_ Severus wondered irritably as he plucked the empty phial off the tray from beside an untouched bowl of broth. He spelled the food to keep it palatably warm should the boy awake and find himself inclined to finally drink it, but he was not hopeful that would come to pass. It had been three days and, each time Severus had checked on him, only the Dreamless Sleep had been consumed.

Harry had to know that if he did not start eating soon, they would have to force him. He was meant to take the broth first, damn it, and then go back to sleep if he wished. Severus could not bring himself to withhold the potion, however. Regardless of Severus’ personal feelings regarding the Weasleys and their infuriating progeny, they had been good to Harry, despite the glamour, and Ron had been a true friend. Losing him could not have been easy for a boy so beset by other troubles. And as Severus was to understand it, the Muggles Harry lived with had been less than nurturing. Though, that wasn’t entirely their fault.

It was a shame the chastity spell had been necessary. And that it had, of equal necessity, been so strong. At least it had been effective. The scent of Harry's purity was so strong in the room, Severus could practically taste it. It overpowered the evidence of the young man's dire need of a wash. Even if he hadn’t been able to smell it, Severus thought he could see it. Harry’s expression, even in sleep, was troubled, but it was such an innocent distress, as if the muscles of his face had not yet learned to mould it into the figures of desire.

Severus scowled. He didn’t like thinking sexually about his students - least of all this one - though he sometimes couldn’t help it. The vampiric reaction to virgin blood was so sodding inconvenient at times. And now here he was, along with most of his possessions, marinating in the stink. He’d be smelling the boy for weeks after he’d gone.

Severus ignored the way his mouth watered and reached down to brush the impossible mess of hair from Harry’s scar, being careful not to actually touch it, and wondered on how he had managed to retain his virginity, despite the spell. Teenage sex had so little to do with anything it should. Still, the more attractive ones never managed to hold out this long, and as much as Severus hated to admit it, even to himself...especially to himself...the young man really was exceptional. How could any spell mask the objective aesthetic appeal of his features? Particularly one not refreshed for fifteen years.

Severus was not certain why it so irritated him that the boy was handsome, but it did. Perhaps it was that it reminded Severus of his own lack of attractiveness. More likely, it was simply that Harry reminded Severus of the boy’s father.

There was a reason the bastard had been so arrogant. It was a fact that was often overshadowed by the proximity of Black’s dashing good looks, but James had been undeniably handsome. Harry had inherited all of it, Severus noted sourly. Even worse, the influence of Lily’s features had perfected it in him. Harry’s beauty was more delicate than his father’s. Lily’s fineness had corrected the man’s proportions in their son. It had sculpted his nose more gracefully, had slendered James’ strong jaw, added fullness to the boy’s lips and heightened his cheekbones. And though Severus could not see it at the moment, one could not forget the effect of his mother’s bright, green eyes peering from beneath his father’s jet black hair.   

Severus’ lip curled and he straightened irritably. The boy was disgustingly attractive. Thank the gods he hadn’t realised it yet, else Severus had no doubt he’d be even more intolerable than James had been. The Potions Master sneered down at him as he reached into his robe pocket and fished out a new phial of Dreamless Sleep to set on the tray beside the neglected broth. He’d have to make more of the potion soon.

As if he didn’t already have enough to do.

As Severus stepped from the boy’s room, Lupin’s visage appeared in the hearth. Severus groaned inwardly. The mangy mutt had been driving him up the wall.

“I believe I told you last time you called that _I_ would inform _you_ when there was something to report,” he told him waspishly as he moved toward the lab.

“Severus, don’t walk away,” Lupin replied wearily.

He was getting harder to ruffle, Severus reflected. Pity. The Potions Master stopped and turned to the fireplace impatiently.

“What are we going to do about Harry’s lessons?”

“So, now you want me to plan yours, as well?”

“Albus is becoming more anxious about the possibility of the Romanians becoming involved,” Lupin went on as if Severus had not commented. “I’m meant to instruct Harry on how to identify vampires, but there are obvious drawbacks.”

It was a matter they’d been wrestling with for a while now: how to prepare the boy without alarming him and endangering Severus and Loraina.

Severus sighed. "I don't know that we shouldn't just tell the boy and have done with it," he grumbled. "He's too bloody nosy to remain oblivious for much longer. If nothing else, thanks to you and that little stunt you pulled with them in class, Granger will no doubt put two and two together soon enough and spell it out for him.” Really, Severus had done nothing worse to Lupin that year than he had done to Severus. He hadn’t actually intended for the man to be fired, though he hadn’t been riddled with guilt, either. “There's no knowing what he might do when that happens, without someone there to administer the proper threats."

“Severus,” Lupin replied, seemingly reaching for patience, “you know it was merely part of the curriculum at the time. It’s not as if I purposefully attempted to out you,” he pointed out accusingly. “And if you take a threatening tone with Harry, he’ll only be compelled to dig deeper. You know how like James he is. Besides, he’s an intelligent boy. And a human being, Severus. He can be reasoned with.”

Severus really thought some of those assertions were debatable. "Oh, alright,” he huffed. “The proper _warnings_. Though, I do think it might be wise to put a bit of fear into him. He obviously doesn't appreciate the simple concept of consequence or how great they would be in this situation."

“He weighs consequence against necessity, as any of us do,” Lupin argued. “Perhaps if we were more open with him about his situation, he could make better-informed decisions.”

"Treating him like an adult does not automatically make him one." Severus sneered, "Merlin knows, you lot should have figured that out by now."

“Young or not, Severus, Albus believes, especially after the events at the Ministry, that we should take Harry more into our confidence. He's simply worried about overwhelming the boy. He is already processing so much.”    

"Yes. Of course, I know the Headmaster's stance on the issue, and as in several others, I do not quite agree."

“We cannot simply ignore the matter,” Lupin said, becoming frustrated. “We cannot have him outing you or Rainey, but we cannot leave him totally unprepared.”

"Well, it is your responsibility to prepare the boy in these matters, Lupin," Severus conceded, somewhat resigned. "And you’re right, it is a lesson he will need to learn. I've persuaded Loraina here, but-"

“Do you think she has ties to the Coven?” Lupin interrupted. Like most of the other staff, the werewolf did not seem to trust Loraina. Severus might have been aggravated, but they weren’t exactly wrong to distrust her, they simply did so for the wrong reasons.

"No,” he assured him, “but there are other ‘free agents’. And the Dark Lord has commissioned me personally to seek them out and sway them to his cause," Severus explained bitterly. "I cannot fail at it forever. Either I will have to go about the errand earnestly to avoid suspicion, or the Dark Lord will find another to do it in my stead. And I think you might understand why I'd rather that not happen. As it is, I've claimed my duties here are too demanding for me to travel abroad, and the Dark Lord certainly doesn't want to compromise my position in relation to the Headmaster." Severus' tone became dark and dreading. "But he will succeed in this, Lupin, with my help or no.”

They had to know this. Though, they seemed to be pretending that, if Severus refused, the venture would fail. The Dark Lord, however, did not place as much faith in him as they did.

“He's already made progress with the werewolves, as I'm sure you may be aware. The half races are resentful toward Wizardkind, ripe for this conversion, and the Dark Lord is all too conscious of this. Surely _you_ understand that,” Severus said. He knew Lupin had struggled for years, and he was far more fortunate than most of his kind.

Lupin looked as if he wanted to deny it but couldn’t quite. Since Dogtown, the werewolf community had been a powder keg just waiting for a spark.

“I understand it perfectly myself, and were my personal circumstances otherwise-"

“Are you insinuating you might be persuaded to a change of heart?” Lupin asked incredulously. The suspicion in his eyes made Severus consider hexing the piss out him, but he wouldn’t want to harm the fireplace.

"Of course, not," Severus spat in response.  _After all I’ve done for the Order_ , Severus fumed. "You know where my loyalties lie. And you know ruddy well _why_. Don't be ridiculous."

The werewolf was instantly contrite, not that it helped mollify the vampire. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he said sincerely. “I’m just out of sorts, and I’m worried about Harry. I just don’t know how to broach the subject with him without leaving you and Rainey vulnerable.”

"Well, I have no suggestions on how else to proceed, except just as we have been,” Severus sighed. “He must be taught. Though mark my words, that boy will be the death of me. If not us all.”

“Severus, he’s done as well as can be expected. And better than most might have. You could try having a little faith in him.”

"Spare me," Severus sneered, but it felt insincere. He was almost certain at this point that his aversion to the boy had little, if anything, to actually do with him, and he was starting to suspect there was more to him than Severus had given him credit for. Not that he was about to admit that to Lupin. "You are as stubborn as your flea-bitten former compatriots."

The comment instantly riled Lupin. Severus had apparently hit on one of the man’s remaining nerves. He smirked to himself. He’d have to keep it in mind.

“Whether you like it or not, James Potter’s son is prophesied to save us all,” Lupin spat. “We can prepare him, or we can resign ourselves to the coming darkness.”

So melodramatic.

“Oh, so be it," Severus clipped sardonically, rolling his eyes. "Potter is brilliant and discerning and will be our bloody saviour. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go slave over our fearless knight-in-bloody-armour's fresh batch of _bottled coma._ ”

And with that, Severus turned his back on the man and stomped down the stairs to the lab.

“We’re all going to die,” he muttered to himself, and then started setting up the apparatus to brew more Dreamless Sleep.


	15. I Blush to Think Upon This Ignomy

**Before: Severus**

Shortly thereafter, the broth began disappearing; not completely but enough. And not long after that, Severus started finding the potion untouched.

He was relieved. He really hadn’t wanted to force-feed the young man. Severus began requesting ‘regular’ food for Harry, and after a couple of real meals, Severus stopped providing the Dreamless Sleep. Harry was far more restless without it, of course, and Severus would sometimes become alarmed and rush to the door after hearing him cry out in his sleep. But Harry never seemed to require Severus’ intervention, so he left the young man to deal with his demons on his own. If he didn’t know how already, the time had certainly come to develop the skill.

After a couple of days of adequate food intake and natural sleep, Harry still had not emerged. Severus wasn’t sure if Harry’d just been so dehydrated that the need to piss hadn’t overwhelmed him yet or if he was somehow disposing of it, but the Potions Master decided it was time to give the young man a not-so-subtle hint that it was time for him to bloody get up and get the hell out of Severus’ rooms. His presence was becoming unnerving for a number of reasons.

Severus found himself thinking of the boy far too often. Even if he hadn’t recognised it before, the origin of his adverse reaction to Harry had become more than clear during his stay.

Severus’ Mark reacted to his proximity and, whenever the young man was unduly emotional, Severus’ forearm would tingle. He’d been walking around for days unconsciously scratching at it. Whenever it happened, Severus found himself worrying about the boy, and that irritated him even more than his raw skin. Harry Potter had plenty of other people to fret over him. Severus had more important things to concern himself with.

And yet, no matter what he was doing, even when his Mark was dormant, several times a day, Severus’ thoughts drifted to his bedroom and the young man languishing there. He couldn’t even properly intimidate his first-year class for the distraction. If the brats proved unmanageable later, Severus was blaming Harry for it.     

Severus set a change of clothes beside the note he left on Harry’s tray to punctuate the suggestion that he bugger off. Then he withdrew quietly and sat down at his desk to grade the year’s first round of essays. He had no idea why he assigned so many of the damned things. He hated reading them. It always put him in a terrible mood, and his marks certainly reflected it.

Severus had just reloaded his quill with red ink when he heard Harry stirring in the other room, and he paused, quickly deciding he did not want to speak to the boy. He was afraid Harry might try to thank him for allowing him to stay, and the man didn’t know what he’d say to it. Then he was afraid he might _not_ thank him, and Severus would be tempted to throttle him. The Potions Master decided the safest course was to retreat to his lab, but he'd barely managed to cross its threshold when Harry’s door swung open. Severus turned to pull the laboratory door to a close behind him, and he did so just in time to see Harry stride from the bedroom...

_Completely bloody starkers._

The shock of it made Severus fumble the knob, and instead of pulling the door closed, he simply caused it to swing in. There was still a generous gap. Severus was torn between wanting to slam it shut and not wanting to draw Harry’s attention.

The sane thing to do would be to close the door. If the young man refused to be decent, Severus would have to be so for the both of them. He reached for the handle, having every intention of grasping it and pulling the thing to but, for some reason, he found himself merely peering, unseen, through the crack.

It was Potter’s audacity, he decided, that froze him in place. He was trembling because he was angry that the young man had the nerve to prance about naked through his sitting room.

Yes. Anger. That’s why his cheeks were warm. Severus should watch him, he thought with a scowl, just in case Harry might try to take liberties with any of his things.

He was soon proven justified in his distrust, as the young man sauntered over, with his clothes tucked under his arm, to poke about Severus’ desk. He had no right to be so relaxed as he invaded the man’s privacy, smiling as he read Severus’ remarks. _No right_ when Severus was currently so tense.

Why was Severus tense? He couldn’t think clearly. Perhaps it was because now the young man had moved on, turning to Severus’ bookshelf. Those books were rare, damn it! And Harry fondled them with no regard for the delicacy of the bindings. Then he bent over to read the titles, and the Potions Master was overcome by…

Damn it! He was simply overcome. It didn’t matter why. He’d seen enough. Severus snatched at the knob and eased the door closed as quickly and quietly as he could. But his blasted hands were shaking, and the latch made the softest clink as it caught. At least the door was finally, completely closed. Severus sank back against the wall of the stairwell trying to calm himself. He consciously slowed his breathing and stroked his hands down his face as if to wipe away the blush in his cheeks. Then he swept them down his torso on the way to banish the throbbing in his...

_Oh, gods._

Severus shuddered. He was mortified. He willed the stone walls to swallow him.

It had to be due to days of chronic immersion in the scent of virgin blood. Surely nothing else could explain it. The Dark was close. He hadn’t wanked in a while. It was fine. Normal. He’d take care of it later.

Severus had just convinced himself everything would be alright, and that the young man would soon be leaving and so none of this would be an issue anyway, when he heard the knob at his elbow jiggle. He slowly turned a horrified gaze to the thing and then watched as it inexplicably turned. 

Severus panicked. He reached up to throw the locks, but before he managed it, the door slowly began to open, preventing him.

_The little shit was trying to break into Severus' lab._

The Potions Master had a sudden vision of the door swinging open and the two of them coming face to face, one in his birthday suit and the other sporting a - no doubt - very obvious erection which could not be easily explained, and Severus was convinced he was about to have an aneurysm. The only reason the vision hadn’t already come to pass was that the door tended to stick.

Severus wasted no time in wrenching the door shut and immediately turning every lock and bolt. Taking no chances, he dropped the crossbar, as well. He hadn’t used it since he’d installed it, but it made a very satisfying thunk as it fell closed which echoed through the stairwell. Severus could hear Harry scramble back from the door, and then a moment later he heard the sound of the upstairs bathroom door slamming shut.

Severus’ heart was pounding, but thankfully, his unmitigated terror had caused his other problem to fade. He waited until he heard the toilet flush and the bathwater begin to run before he ventured to unbar the door and peek cautiously through it. Confident the young man was occupied, Severus rushed to the hearth and tossed in some floo powder from the new jar of it on the mantle to call up Lupin’s quarters, hoping to gods the man was in.

“Lupin,” he hissed quietly. “ _Lupin!_ ”

The man had a toothbrush sticking from his mouth when he wandered into his sitting room to answer his hearth.

“Severus?” he asked, alarmed by the vampire’s impatient scowl. “What is it? Is something wrong?”    

“It lives,” Severus informed him in a fierce whisper. “You need to come collect him. Now.”

Lupin nodded readily but was unsettled by Severus’ manner and refusal to raise his voice.

“Has something happened?” he asked anxiously.

“ _Now_ ,” Severus reiterated. Then he pulled his head from the floo and practically ran down the stairs to his lab, waving his wand behind him to throw the locks again, resolving to never, _ever_ , think of this incident again.

Ever.  


	16. Root of Thine Annoy

**Before: Severus**

The coin in Severus’ breast pocket began to warm and vibrate, and Severus cursed. Surely it was too early in the day for there to be a crisis. He’d just stepped into his classroom to prepare for the day, for Merlin’s sake. Loraina was probably simply bored. He hadn’t given her the bloody coin to entertain her. Grumbling, he fished it out of his pocket.

 _Great Hall. Now,_ the edge read.

Severus pressed the centre of his coin and whispered to it, “What bloody for?”

He waited, watching as the words morphed into her reply: _Emergency. Potter._

Al-fucking-ready? Severus’ stomach did a small, grudging, uncomfortable somersault, but he did his best to ignore it.

“Have Duty Professor Handle,” he barked at his coin. He hated the limitation on the length of his replies. He hated abbreviated language. Language was, in his opinion, their most inexhaustible source of both offence and defence. It was his most trusted and preferred weapon, and he liked to show it the respect of utilising it properly.

“Am Duty Witch. Alone. Come now,” Severus read aloud.

“Fuck!” he shouted to the empty classroom, tossing down his lesson plan and striding quickly for the door.

“Why the bloody fuck are you the only one on duty?” he bitched into his coin as he ran. He knew the text would force itself smaller and smaller to fit onto her coin and would quickly become illegible, but he didn’t care. “You’ve been taking Substisanguinus for less than a month! You can’t even walk past the fucking windows yet without getting a sunburn!”

It didn’t matter whether Loraina could read it, he was too busy running to read her reply. His Mark had ignited, but not in the way that meant the Dark Lord was summoning him. Harry was in the midst of some emotional turmoil. It was the strongest fit he’d felt yet, and they could _not_ have Harry repeat his performance in Dumbledore’s office, or all hell would break loose.

Despite the fact that so many of the student body had been plucked from Hogwarts by their parents after the attack, there were still far too many students roaming the halls for him to use his true speed. It wasn’t too terribly far though, and Severus rounded through the doors of the Great Hall seemingly just in time. Harry had drawn his wand, and there was indeed something very concerning in his eyes as he glared at the great lump of Hufflepuff looming threateningly over him. Severus recognised the boy. Patrick was a soft-headed dolt who was abysmal at Potions. Thank _gods_ he’d failed to test into Severus’ N.E.W.T. class.

"You-Know-Who is after Harry Potter. As long as _you're_ around we're all in danger! And if you won't go willingly," Patrick said, reaching for his wand. Harry smiled dangerously and Severus’ arm was on fire. "Then I guess someone had better make you."

It was all Severus could do not to pull out his own wand and curse the hulking twit. But Harry simply laughed; a manic titter that reminded Severus all too keenly of the woman watching from the shadows by the staff table. Severus quickly strode forward and swept between the two boys, coming face-to-face with the larger one.

"What's all this, then?" he drawled as if he didn't really care to know. But the look in Severus’ eye very clearly communicated that the lumbering bully would be best served sitting his arse down before Severus took the matter out of his hands. The shocked and timid expression on Patrick’s face seemed to indicate he’d heard the Potions Master’s silent threat loud and clear, but Severus continued to glare at him until the boy shuffled sheepishly back to his table.

Not that he was off the hook. Pomona would be hearing about this very soon.

Disaster had been averted. Severus’ Mark began to quiet somewhat, but Harry needed to be removed from here. Now. Severus composed himself before turning to look down his nose at him. Though, he was disconcerted to note he didn't have to look far. Harry was almost eye level with the Potions Master. Children grew like damned weeds, Severus thought irritably.

"Causing trouble yet again, Potter?" Severus said with a withering sigh. He’d be damned if he'd give the young man any reason to believe he’d actually been concerned.

" _Me?_ " Harry shouted in disbelief. Severus’ Mark stirred again, causing him to scowl, but it was fleeting. Harry was so incredulous that, for a moment, he had trouble forming words.

"But it was _him_ who was throwing the eggs!"

So, that was what had happened. Merlin’s sake. Were they in primary school? Granted, if someone had thrown food at Severus, he’d have hexed them into oblivion first and asked questions later. Perhaps the boy had more self-control than Severus gave him credit for. He still couldn’t allow cheek, though, especially in front of everyone in the Great Hall.

"I would watch my tone if I were you, Mr. Potter," Severus warned, "unless you'd like to find yourself in even more trouble than you are presently. As I'm sure you are well aware, duelling is strictly prohibited in the Great Hall. Now, kindly put away your wand and follow me."

Harry, however, made no move to do so. The young man was so angry he looked near to tears.

"What? Would you like to stay and finish your breakfast? I'd have thought you'd have had your fill of eggs," the Potions Master said with a sneer. Without waiting for further response, Severus turned and made for the doors.

Thankfully, Harry followed.

As Severus led the reluctant young man to his Head of House, he had to wonder whose brilliant idea it was to send Harry off to breakfast unaccompanied. Out-of-bed did not equate to all-hunky-dory. For fuck’s sake. Did no one but Severus have any sense at all? Surely he wasn’t the only one who could read the perilous imbalance in the young man’s expression.

Thank Hermes Severus had thought to pocket a couple of the coins The Umbitch had confiscated from the rebel alliance the year before. There’s no telling what Loraina would have done to neutralise the situation if Severus had not shown up. He didn’t know what egregious lapse in judgement resulted in her presence in the Great Hall alone that morning, but he meant to ensure it did not happen again. She shouldn’t have even been put on duty in the first place.

Severus was so busy fuming, he nearly passed Minerva’s office, and he hadn’t yet even addressed Harry. He stopped abruptly and turned to him.

"What, exactly, did you think you were doing?" Severus demanded with an exasperated shake of his head.

Harry toed the ground sullenly for a moment before muttering, rather lamely, "He started it."

Severus felt he might be physically ill. Was that really the best response Harry could come up with for nearly sending a boy to the hospital wing?

"Be that as it may," he replied wearily, "there was little need for you to finish it. _Must_ you rise to every goad? Is it really so difficult to just do nothing? Grow _up_ , Harry," Severus said. The young man met his eye with a shocked expression Severus didn’t quite understand. The man ignored it and continued.

"I think you are well aware that your... _abilities_ are more advanced than many of your classmates',” said Severus. It wouldn’t do to swell his head too much, but Harry needed to understand that most of his peers were not as experienced in serious, practical duelling as he was. “It is unseemly to pick a fight with those weaker than yourself."

Harry looked a bit sheepish and discontent but not defiant. "He was throwing food at me,” he objected helplessly. “What did you expect me to do? Get up and walk off?"

The young man had a point. Not that Severus was going to concede it. He smirked and rapped smartly on the door beside them and Harry flinched.

"Actually," Severus began in answer to his question, "that is exactly what I expect. And apparently that was what Professor Cobbleshot expected, as well, or else I would imagine she would have been busy separating the two of you rather than bothering to report the incident to me. Fortunately, I am somewhat more familiar with your behaviour than she is and was able to prevent what I am sure would have been a spectacular display of testosterone and stupidity. I shall advise our new Professor not to give you so much credit in future, especially should it relate to matters of common sense."

Harry reflected on this statement, seemed about to pose what would have surely been a very ill-advised question, but the door beside them opened before he had the opportunity.

"Minerva," Severus greeted her, though he was still looking at Harry, for some reason extremely curious about what he’d been about to say. He wasn’t sure why, as it would doubtless have been something smartassed and infuriating.

"It seems that Mr. Potter has finally deigned to grace us with his presence. I'll leave him in your hands."

Someone should have brought him here in the first place, he thought wearily. It was not Severus' problem anymore, though. He nodded to her, giving Harry one last curious glance before turning to go.

"What? That's it, then?" Harry asked, halting Severus’ step.

"Were you looking forward to detention?" Severus inquired over his shoulder.

"No."

"No, what?" Severus sighed.

"No, Sir," Harry added quickly, surprising Severus with his complete lack of impudence.

"Very well, then," said Severus, laying the matter to rest. He continued on his way, resolving to forget the young man for at least the rest of the day and concentrate on the thousand and one things he needed to do; for both his masters. 

Despite the resolution, Severus continued to brood.

Harry was clearly too volatile, and Severus suspected that whatever had triggered his initial aversion for the boy, whatever it was that made his Mark burn when Harry raged, was also contributing to Harry’s aggression. Severus knew what it was to be consumed by anger and hatred and bitterness, but the darkness that ate at the young man wasn’t even entirely his own, and Severus had to find a way to help him neutralise its influence on him. For all their sakes.

The question gnawed at Severus all day during class, making him far too lenient, leading him to ignore several small displays of ineptitude in his students as his concern distracted him. Helping Harry block the fiend from his thoughts would do little to negate the poison ever present in the young man. Harry would have to learn ground himself in himself, but after carrying around a seed of evil for fifteen years, did the boy even really know who he was? Severus was so bothered by the problem, he even forgot to be annoyed that he had to soil his largest cauldron while burning the clothes the young man left behind.

Finally accepting it would not leave him alone, Severus picked himself up off his cot and pulled back on his robes. It was late, but Albus would surely be awake. Severus needed to have a word with the Headmaster.


	17. Fond Woman, Let Me Go

**Before: Severus**

Harry had failed to test into Severus’ N.E.W.T. level class, and as such the Potions Master did not see the young man except at meals when he was on duty. The previous year, that fact had rather delighted him. Now, however, it made him anxious. Not that Severus _wanted_ to see Harry, he simply had no other way to gauge the young man’s mental state, in which he had a vested interest. His Mark had been quiet, though, and that was some consolation.

Severus’ fourth period was reserved for planning and grading, but he arranged the papers on his podium in neat, well-organized stacks and set them aside. Instead of his usual routine, he stood and palmed Loraina’s daily dose of Substisanguinus. He could give her a week’s worth at a time as he brewed it, but Severus wasn’t satisfied yet that he trusted her to take it daily if he did not deliver it personally and watch her drink it. Besides, she seemed to enjoy his short visits, and if he neglected her for too long, she would search him out and force him into a situation he could not as easily excuse himself from. Turning up during or between classes allowed for a quick escape.

He wasn’t sure why he avoided her, really. They got on surprisingly well, and she hadn’t said or done anything seriously suggestive yet. She flirted, but then she flirted with everyone. It was worrisome, actually, considering she likely did not put much effort into kerbing the habit even when interacting with students.

But her company was difficult for him to bear, regardless, because Severus _had_ missed her. Almost every day for a decade and a half, he’d thought of her in some way. But her presence did not ease his loneliness for her, as the woman who now taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in a dungeon classroom not far from his own was not the woman Severus remembered with fondness and interacting with her only served to reinforce that fact. He would have to learn to make friends with this new version of her eventually, and he was confident he would, but he seemed to still be subtly mourning who she had been.

Severus would not admit to himself that he chose this moment in particular for his delivery. He pretended it was merely coincidence that led him to approach her doorway while she was teaching her Sixth Year class. But curiously, she wasn’t. Despite that the period was only half finished, he saw her students streaming down the hall, and he scowled. Early dismissal was not unheard of, but this was ridiculous. Most of the students looked unsettled in some way or another, and it unsettled Severus to see it. He had not yet asked, but he could only imagine what her lesson plan looked like.

Unsurprisingly, Harry was escaping with the rest, shuffling down the corridor with his head bowed in earnest conversation with Granger, who looked livid. Severus pretended not to notice them, but his peripheral was generously employed. The young man looked well enough; less angry and unnerved than his classmates, actually. He stared at the Potions Master as they approached, and his attention was intent enough to be uncomfortable. Severus thought he might be trying to catch his eye, but they hadn’t spoken since…

Severus had not come to strike up a conversation with the young man. He was whole. Severus was satisfied. He passed them without comment and proceeded to visit his ‘ex-girlfriend’. He shuddered. He hated the term. ‘Former lover’ was equally chaffing. Neither carried the appropriate connotation for what they were. Severus wasn’t certain a word even existed for it.

Loraina seemed to be waiting for him at the door of her classroom. “All the little hairs on the back of my neck started tingling, and I just knew you were coming to see me,” she sang. “No other vampire makes me shiver quite the way you do,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes.

Severus rolled his eyes and offered her her medicine. She plucked it from his fingers, unbothered by his lack of response, and held it aloft to examine it. He knew she enjoyed its colour and he intentionally placed her doses in octagonal phials that refracted the light. Watching her delight in it, Severus couldn’t suppress a small smile.

“So. Stimulating lesson today?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning lazily against Loraina's doorframe. “I see it’s ended already, and most of your students seem dazed.”o

“First day,” she grinned, winking at him. “Important to make an impression.”

“I have no doubt you’d have done that regardless of the contents of your presentation,” he said with grudging fondness. Loraina laughed at him, and he was slightly heartbroken to hear how ragged it was. It was not what he remembered, but it was impossible to tell if it had ever been so musical or if his memory had idealised it in her absence.

“Our Little Harry is quite impressive, isn’t he?” she said, eyes dancing. He wondered, anxiously, what might have happened in class to make her think so. She spoke almost obsessively about the young man. Severus had yet to convince her she placed far too much stock in his competency.

“Not particularly that I’ve found,” he muttered with a shrug. She waved him off as a fool and uncorked her potion, tossing it down her throat and handing back the empty vial to his waiting hand before responding.

“You’re just prejudiced,” she dismissed. “But he's not much like his father at all, I don't think. And he’s far prettier than James, besides.”

Severus was annoyed on realising he’d actually thought the same, mostly because he disliked that he’d wasted energy contemplating Harry’s appearance in any terms, much less those.

“Granted, he’s also itchy,” she conceded, surprising him. “Don’t think I don’t feel it,” she smirked, punctuating the comment by scratching at her left forearm. “Though, he’s marvellous potential, don’t you think? He might not be clever enough for your potions, but he has the instincts of a warrior.”

Severus scowled at her appraisal. Loraina’d just met him. She didn’t know the young man. Combativeness was not indicative of bloodlust. Conditioned reflex was not the same as instinct. Harry did not come by his aptitude naturally. Severus suspected it wearied him, in fact.

And this thinking wearied Severus. Why was he arguing the boy’s frailty to himself? As long as the little shit kept himself alive, and calm in Loraina’s presence, Severus really shouldn’t care. Why should he worry about her eagerness to see Harry fulfil a role he had no choice but to play? Why should it bother him that she projected yet another expectation on him? Why was he asking himself so many bloody questions?

“Ah. So, you don’t agree, I take it,” Loraina said, her tongue peeking cheekily through her teeth as she goaded him. She mimicked his posture, resting against the opposite side of the doorway. “Or is something else annoying you?” she hypothesised, giving him a cartoonishly scrutinising look. “You say so much but never what you’re _really_ thinking. Are you bothered by my thinking he’s pretty?” she teased. “You realise you’ve no right to be jealous.”

Severus sighed. “In the unlikely event that he decides to undertake the highly ill-advised endeavour of wooing you, I might consider being jealous,” he drawled with a small, playful smirk. She rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t talking about him wooing me,” she said. “I’ve half a mind to seduce the boy. You’ve had years to make up your mind about it, my love. Don’t blame me if you miss out on him.”

Severus abruptly straightened, glaring at her. It was not a joking matter, for a multitude of reasons. She giggled and danced backwards as if he might attack, though he gave no indication he might do so beyond his petulant expression.

“I really don’t know why I talk to you,” he muttered, turning his back on her in a huff. She cackled behind him as he swept away down the corridor.

“Oh, Sev. You know you love me,” she called after him.

 _Damned infuriating woman_ , he fumed. Quite unfortunately, she was probably right.

 


	18. That We May Know the Traitor and the Truth

**Now: Severus**

The memory started to shift to another, but Severus needed a moment to process the one they’d just seen. It wasn’t until they emerged from the Pensieve, and Severus was surprised to find Remus had followed, that he noticed he still grasped the other man’s arm and had dragged him out with him. Severus released it and stepped back, too disoriented by the change in scenery and the revelations they’d witnessed to be embarrassed. He could see that Remus was just as lost as he was, and it was a moment before they could find their voices.

“Do you realise how dangerous it is to call the wolf, Severus?” Remus asked. He was pale and looked as if he were about to be ill. Severus could see his anger with Loraina warring for priority with his worry for Harry. Severus nodded that he understood, but Remus continued anyway.

“If you call it too often, eventually, it takes over. Your body reverts, but your mind does not. I know Rainey knows this. Why? Why would she encourage this?” He was shaking.

Severus had no answer. He was seething himself. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Loraina running her hands over Harry, dipping as if she would kiss him. He didn’t quite understand why it bothered him so much when watching Remus do the same had had quite the opposite effect. But then, that had surprised him, too.

He supposed that part of it was that they were both his. He’d had no claim on Remus at the time and could not dictate his actions. But Loraina and Harry both belonged to Severus and he’d not given the former permission to touch the latter. Of course, he knew, rationally, that they were both sovereign adults and that he owned neither, but that did nothing to quiet his jealousy and sense of betrayal. Loraina knew how he would feel about the trespass. It felt very much as if it had been done out of spite.

Or else, to finish what had been started. Loraina’d not been shy with her opinion of his and Harry’s relationship when she’d found him in the lab after Harry had walked out on him, thinking Severus unfaithful with the woman.

He’d both resented and appreciated her presence then. He resented that she’d seen him so helpless and that he hadn’t been able to hide it at the time, but he had been grateful someone had been there to pet him as he wept. Because he had; hard enough to not care that someone else was there to see it. Hard enough that he actually ached to be held. He’d wept as he hadn’t since he was a child, hiding from his father after an argument. He’d forgotten how badly crying hurt, how dangerous sobs could be when they appropriated one’s whole body. He'd felt just as bruised as he had as a boy, his soul blackened instead of his eye.

Loraina had cradled him and spoken softly to him just as she’d done when they were both gripped by Madness, as Severus would do with Harry only weeks later.

“I’ve been telling you since the beginning that it wasn’t meant to last,” she’d cooed. “It was never healthy for either of you. I know he was your most precious pet and that it hurts to let him go. But an Auror is no kind of lover for a vampire to keep. The World will look after him now. And I’ll look after you as I always have, My Severus, My Love.”

Severus shivered. She’d been too bold. She’d gotten ahead of herself, forgotten for a moment that she played the long game. Still, he hadn’t recognised it until just now. How long had she whispered doubts in his ear? Could he even remember a time when she hadn’t?

“Severus,” Remus said softly, waking him back to the present. “Are you ready?” The man held out his hand once more.

The scene they dropped into was exceptionally similar to the one they’d just left. They weren’t nearly so deep in the Forest, though. Hogwarts was still visible beyond the trees Harry was strolling through when Loraina walked up to join him.

“Do you live here?” Harry asked, his eyes closed as if meditating. Instead of answering his question, Loraina gave a short laugh.

“I hear there is still trouble in paradise,” she said. The comment stopped Harry in his tracks, and they both tarried as he glared at her. Loraina wasn’t much bothered.

“Better you’re here with me, anyway, Lovely,” she said, striding forward with Harry (and Severus and Remus behind him) following hesitantly. “You won’t be singing lullabies to our enemies,” she sneered. “It’s time someone showed you how real vampires hunt.”

Severus scowled. He was so weary of talk of ‘real’ vampires. He didn’t want to be one at all, much less an authentic one. He supposed she romanticised it out of necessity. Where Loraina had been, one did not have the luxury of clinging to humanity.

“Why are you always so critical of Severus?” Harry asked. His tone had been mild, but Severus could tell by his expression that her disdain for Severus’ lifestyle chafed the young man. She didn’t slow or turn to him as she answered.

“Severus is formidable in his own right when he wishes to be,” she admitted. “He held his own against you on the Dark. That was no small feat. You are far stronger than any mere vampire, Harry,” she said, pausing briefly to appraise him. “Or any werewolf, for that matter. He should have allowed me to help then. But no doubt he did not want to share the intimacy, even if it would have meant sharing the scars, as well. Not that I blame him, really,” she said slyly, looking at Harry lingeringly from the corner of her eye.

Severus bristled, but it was typical of the woman. If he took exception to everything he might, he’d exhaust himself.

“Have you told them yet?” she asked as if she was annoyed by Harry’s lack of reaction and was searching for another button to push. “What it is you plan?” When Harry didn’t answer, she stopped and turned to him, blocking his path.

“Then what else will you have when you go to do the bloody deed, hmm? We should make ourselves more...familiar,” she said with a slow half-smile.

Endearingly, Harry seemed unfazed by the flirtation. Though, he did give her a long, hard look as if trying to understand the motivation behind her persistence.

“What about your feelings for Severus?” he asked, judgment gently creasing his brow. Loraina’s expression soured but recovered almost instantly.

“My feelings for Severus?” she asked as if baffled by the insinuation. As skilled as she was in manipulation, she was doing a rather poor job of it at the moment.

Harry smirked. He’d caught her lapse, too.

“You were close before,” he pointed out. “Have been ever since you came out of hiding. I can tell you care about him still. You seem awfully fickle, pursuing him one day and then tossing him aside the next, whenever and as often as it suits you.”

Severus couldn’t help but cringe. Self-awareness was not Harry’s strong suit, but then, the young man was oblivious to most things. There was an innocence to it that made it difficult to truly be angry at him for it. It tended to make him honest by default, if sometimes maddeningly dense. He was quite unintentionally hypocritical. A forgivable trait but a wearying one.

“Fickle?” Loraina scoffed, bitterly amused. “Me? What _has_ he been telling you?” she muttered with a shake of her head, turning and continuing on into the trees.

“You ran off,” Harry pressed, jogging to keep up. “You left him behind.”

“I tried to kill the Dark Lord, Harry.” She might sound bored to others, but Severus could tell she was piqued. “I tried to tear out his jugular with my teeth. What choice do you suppose I had in leaving?”

But then, like the shifting of the breeze, her expression became sad. It was practically a caricature of the emotion. Like Harry, there was something very childlike about her. Her feelings were mercurial and sometimes so pure. If Severus hadn’t still been aggravated with her from earlier, it might almost have been charming.

“Severus would not come with me,” she told Harry, her tone artificially dismissive. “One can hardly blame him. But no. It was not me who stopped loving him,” she explained, her voice flattened by sorrow. “It was him who stopped loving me.”

The comment was unexpectedly piercing to be so soft-spoken. Harry could not see it properly from where he stood, but the sudden pain in her expression knocked Severus’ breath from his chest. He wanted to object. The statement was false...but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was a half-truth, an oversimplification. Though, Severus realised that those qualifications didn’t change the reality of the situation for her. The nuance didn’t matter. The details were irrelevant. Her feelings were unrequited, and that was the only truth of consequence.

“When the China Doll broke, he mourned its lost loveliness rather than try to piece it back together,” she went on, waking Severus reluctantly to her continued condemnation. He didn’t want to hear it, but he knew he must. He’d earned this pain. He forced himself to face the mild, well-matured cynicism in her expression as she turned to Harry, knowing he was the cause of it.

“He preferred to grieve for us instead. Our love was cold long before we managed to stumble our way back to the Dark Lord. Murdered and wept for, all for a madman’s ambition. And not even a serious ambition, at that,” she sneered. “Did you think I tried to kill the bastard simply because my diet and sleeping habits changed?” she asked with a small, mirthless chuckle. “You might have noticed, I don’t lament what I am, unlike your eternally tortured bedfellows.”

Severus must have looked as wretched as he felt because a hand settled on his shoulder. He glanced gratefully to Remus but shrugged him away. The look in the werewolf’s eyes was too heartfelt and forgiving. The man was a veritable bottomless pit of empathy, but Severus wasn’t in the mood to be comforted. He had no right to be.

He accepted that he could not force himself to love Loraina, but he also acknowledged that he had not treated her well. After all, she’d done for him, after everything they’d experienced together, she had deserved better. She had deserved an explanation and some sort of closure, even if that closure would likely have been to beat Severus to a pulp in her heartache to burn the bridge forever. Severus had denied her that. He’d equivocated.

The truth was, he hadn’t been able to articulate his change of heart at the time. The Madness had been too recent, the shift in Loraina too sudden and disconcerting. And then she’d poured her anguish over their schism into an attack on the Dark Lord and made any further reconciliation impossible. She had suddenly been gone, and Severus had found himself in the Malfoys’ dungeon, and they would not speak face to face again for almost fifteen years.

Harry seemed troubled by the revelation, and Severus felt shame warm his cheeks. He wondered what the young man thought of him after hearing it. For some reason, he also wondered, fleetingly, what Remus thought of it. The man had been respectfully silent, seeming to understand that these old hurts between them ran deep.

Harry appeared to be showing Loraina that same consideration. She was still for a long while, clearly lost in memories, and Harry waited quietly for her to continue.

“Severus was gentler, you understand,” she explained almost anxiously. “Had always been, though most could never see it. Most never bothered to look. When they turned us loose in the woods after the deed was done, we had only ourselves to see us through the Madness. But it almost defeated Severus. And I spent so much of myself in helping him fight, I did not save enough of me to quite win my own battle. Apparently, whatever Severus loved most about me was lost to it.”

The confession was compulsive and heartbreaking, and Severus did not brush Remus away when he reached to comfort him again, not quite embracing him but close enough. Severus had never really been one for physical displays, but the night had been long and emotionally arduous, and he had a feeling this would not be the last blow he weathered before they were done.

“I admit I am broken, Harry. We all are, really,” she said, unwittingly echoing the man at Severus’ side. “But you’re different,” she added after a quiet moment, giving Harry a gently scrutinising look. “The Madness damaged but didn’t shatter you.”

She couldn’t be as puzzled as she appeared. Harry was whole because Severus had sacrificed himself to ensure it. Just as she had once for Severus.

“Could be that you’re just too simple to shatter,” she concluded with a shrug, her mask coming back up. She had been reminded, perhaps, why she was leading Harry astray, and the time for soul-bearing had ended for the moment.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said, her melancholy falling from her as she continued walking. “Lucky for you to be so sturdy. Fewer intricacies, fewer things there are to snap. Besides, there’s a beauty in simple things,” she said. Her banter seemed forced. It was as if she’d disliked the weight of their conversation before and needed to convince herself she was beyond heartaches so timeworn. “Only the beautiful can get away with being damaged, Harry. And even then, only if the cracks are superficial. Otherwise, you stop being beautiful. You know, it’s always been funny to me how so many can laud the poem that extols the aesthetic of a person’s jagged edges, but so few are willing to risk cutting themselves on the actual pieces of another. People want to read about broken individuals, Harry,” she confided with a smirk. “They don’t really want to know any.”

“That isn’t true,” Harry argued gently. “I fell in love with Severus _because_ he was broken.”

Severus smiled weakly at the comment. It warmed him, though it also bothered him a bit. He’d long suspected it had been pity that had driven the young man into his arms so long ago, and also pity that kept him from leaving when he might have.

“Like I said, you are simple,” she shrugged. “Oh, I’m only teasing. But look at how long that lasted, Lovely. Only four years and you’re already running off into the arms of someone more whole.”

Severus felt Remus shift uncomfortably beside him, but he did not withdraw. Severus lay a hand on his arm to ensure he didn’t. They’d settled that matter already. It didn’t serve any of them for the werewolf to continue beating himself up over it.

“But don’t feel bad. It isn’t easy to love something so damaged,” Loraina said understandingly. “You were cut, and it bled you slowly. Your cracks widen daily. Soon you’ll be the one doing the cutting. But then, you know that already. That’s why you’re leaving. That’s why we chase your vengeance instead of setting up house, despite how it will hurt him. It would never have worked anyway, you know. Your bond with the wolf eats at Severus. Best to leave him to figure out why you forged it and let him forge one of his own. They will be good for one another,” she reasoned, nodding to herself. “It is as it should be.”

The two men looked at one another, at the way their limbs were tangled, and Remus blushed. But Severus couldn’t help but feel they were all playing into her hands. He gently extricated himself from Remus, not trying to hurt his feelings, only feeling like a pawn and wanting to stand on his own. Besides, this was not like him. This instant intimacy was confusing. It made him uncomfortable that it was so comfortable. It made him feel vulnerable, and Severus hated few things more.

“And you suppose you’re good for me?” Harry asked sceptically, distracting both men from the suddenly awkward moment.

“Oh heavens, no!” Loraina said, tickled by the insinuation. “I’m going to get you killed. But we both know that’s what you really want anyway, Lovely. Though before it’s managed, we’ll send some of the bastards to Hell ahead of us. It will be glorious.”

“My gods, Severus,” Remus whispered, horrified. “She's marching him toward his death like the bloody Piper, convincing him it’s what he wants. Why would she sow such darkness in him?”

“She’s simply nurturing what she found,” Severus said sadly.

He knew how little encouragement the young man required to be thrown into such thoughts. It was a worry that had consumed Severus during those days when Harry had refused to see him. He’d wanted to respect Harry’s boundaries, but not being able to monitor him had been torturous. If Severus could have done it in some clandestine way that did not force them to interact, he might have violated the young man’s privacy to protect him. Apparently, he should have done, and then they would not be discovering all of this now after he’d gone.

“Oh, Loraina,” he sighed.

“Don’t tell me you sympathise with her?” Remus asked scathingly. Severus scowled at him.

“You cannot? And here I thought that was what you did best,” Severus sniped. “I’m meant to accept and forgive yours and Harry’s fondness for a man who antagonised me until the day he died, but understanding the intricate motivations of this woman I’ve shared some of the most profound events of my life with is simply beyond you?”

“Sirius never tried to get Harry killed,” Remus responded coolly. “Or else I’d have ended the man myself.”

The two stared at one another, not quite angry but undoubtedly aggravated, until Harry’s voice pulled their attention back to the memory still playing around them.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked Loraina suspiciously. “Why help me? Why come with me? This was done to me, not to you. Your demon is dead.” That he wasn’t blindly following her to his doom seemed to placate them both, and they waited anxiously for her response.

She was quiet for a long while, a number of emotions clearly fighting for supremacy within her.

“That is why,” she said finally. Her expression was hard but melancholy. “What else do you suppose sustained me? Let me carve out a life in the wilderness at the edges of the Coven? Life here is easier, but you extinguished my fire, Harry. Don’t get me wrong, I thank you for it. But I lived only to see the fiend die, and now that he has, I don’t see much point to me any longer.”

What she left unsaid twisted Severus’ insides.

 _Since Severus don’t want me_ , was written clearly in the crease of her brow, in the frown tugging at the corner of her mouth. The man wished he’d known she felt this way. He couldn’t have forced himself to be for her what she wanted, but perhaps he could have helped her find something else to cling to to keep herself afloat. But why, if she was intent on drowning, she insisted on taking Harry with her, Severus didn’t quite understand; except that perhaps she felt the young man truly was unhealthy for Severus, and she was doing what she thought was in his best interest since the Potions Master could not manage to do it himself. She had never understood his and Harry’s relationship. Loraina had always been incapable of grasping any relationship that wasn’t theirs, and Severus wasn’t sure she even understood that one. Their whole life, she’d required an antagonist. He’d merely fought them at her side for a time. Unlike Loraina, Severus was weary of battle.

“I don’t intend to simply fade away, though. After a lifetime thirsting for revenge, I’d rather taste some worthy of my sacrifice before I go. I prefer to go out fighting,” she said, mirroring Severus’ thoughts. “And yet again, you’ve offered me my salvation, My Lovely,” she said more softly, turning to Harry with a lascivious smile. “This is a fight worth dying for,” she said, sidling closer. “This is a challenge worth accepting. I happen to think they perfected you,” she said, giving the young man a long, approving look. “But I’m more than familiar with the betrayal you must feel. You were robbed of life hard-won and well-deserved. And for that,” she said, her seduction hardening to something more sinister but equally ardent, “we’ll make the bastards pay.”

“Do you think she believes that?” Remus asked quietly at Severus’ elbow, sounding as though he was trying to be understanding but was still struggling with it. “Do you think she genuinely believes she’s doing him a favour?”

Severus sighed. “Who knows,” he replied, wringing his hands. “That’s not how she works. She’s cunning, but she doesn’t think. Not about the why, only the how. She might simply be saying what she thinks Harry will be receptive to, or she may actually feel it to be true, but Loraina is a creature of impulse. If she does believe it, it’s because she’s rationalised her instinct to act. It will have been the result of her compulsion and not the impetus for it. Loraina might be dogged in her pursuit of a goal, but her decision to seek it is instantaneous and rarely, if ever, inspired by rationality.”

Remus gave Severus a curious but sceptical look while he digested this.

“She isn’t evil,” Severus insisted, feeling strangely defensive of her. “She’s merely ruthless. Unwavering. There’s a difference. One doesn't consider a cyclone to be _evil_ , no matter how much destruction it causes.”

“Are you trying to convince me she’s a force of nature?” Remus asked, more snidely than was characteristic for him.

“Of course, she is,” Severus said so off-handedly and unequivocally that Remus’ scowl faded and he looked back over at the woman with a confused new interest.

“Now. Do you remember how to call the beast, Lovely? Or do I have to punch you again?” she asked Harry. He didn’t answer immediately, and she seemed to grow impatient with his lack of response, stepping toward him with her hand already fisted at her side. Harry threw a hand up to halt her.

“No. I think I can do it. Just give me a moment.”

She nodded but didn’t relax, making herself ready for his transformation. Her hand went to her belt and the Aconite solution tucked there. Remus grimaced, seemed to be dreading what would happen next. Watching Harry transform was difficult for Severus, as well, but he could not appreciate what was happening in the same way Remus could. He knew it was about more than just the pain of it, and Severus felt for them both that they ever had to endure it, much less that they must do so every month. Severus had had to survive the Madness only once. It had lasted longer than sundown to sunup, granted, but once it was finished, there had merely been the purgatory of existing on borrowed life. If he’d had to experience a condensed version of the ordeal every twenty-eight days, he might have gone mad a long time ago. Severus had not properly reflected on it before, but Remus’ persistent optimism was rather remarkable, considering, and he looked on the werewolf with a reluctant but tenacious new respect.

The bloodwolf before them closed his eyes in concentration but did not shift form.

“Remember our secret, Harry?” Loraina prompted, noticing his struggle. “Invite it to come, just like Animus Secretum. Give it permission. Or why not simply try the spell? What is your inner self now but the slavering thirst for vengeance?”

Harry cracked an eyelid as if he suspected her of mocking him, but she was suggesting it in earnest. He closed his eyes again, seeming almost to go into a trance.

The change came on suddenly and went much smoother than the last. In fact, it almost seemed to have been harder on Remus than it had been on Harry. The young man apparently had embraced it rather than fought it, and Severus thought he could detect more control in him than before. There had been a frightening moment the last time when Harry had seemed to vanish altogether. Not just his form, but the young man himself. Severus could see his Dearest present in the creature before them this time, and though it still stung to see him so changed, the vampire was relieved.

Loraina could see him too, it seemed. She peered into his eyes for a long moment, smiling when she recognised the man in the wolf.

“Well done,” she beamed, though she was still on guard. She stepped carefully to his side. “Are you ready to hunt, then, Lovely?” she asked.

Which set Severus’ heart tripping. He hadn’t wanted Harry to experience the thrill of the hunt so soon. It was seductive. It was addictive. It was dangerous. And like Remus’ concerns about calling the wolf, Severus worried that if Harry became too comfortable with the state, he would fall into it out of habit whenever he perceived a minor threat. He was too young and undisciplined to become a flawless killing machine at the drop of a hat without eventually doing something he’d come to regret.

Severus watched with mild panic as Harry fell forward onto his hands - his paws - and answered Loraina’s question with a low growl. She gave him a slow grin before leaping forward into the forest. And Harry bounded after, fast on her heels.


	19. Patient Yourself

**Before: Severus**

He had made a habit of taking Loraina’s potion to her during or just after fourth period, no longer bothering to make excuses to himself about why he did so. Even if he hadn’t made this his regular delivery time, he would have chosen it today, regardless. Severus had witnessed Granger and the boy having a falling out at lunch the day before and was concerned the event would tip Harry’s emotional balance toward instability. He had warned Albus they were both too wounded to heal one another. It seemed wrong to him to expect them to do so. How could either care for their self when they were forced to worry about the other?

Severus lingered in his doorway and waited for class to let out, as Loraina’s students had to pass near it to exit the dungeons. He’d expected a mass dismissal, and he was puzzled to see children trickle down the corridor one at a time. Finally, he stopped one of the girls to ask what was going on. For a moment, she seemed too overcome to speak.

“Demonstration,” she muttered dazedly when she regained the ability, “Animus Secretum.” Then she wandered off and down the hall.

Severus scowled after her. The words meant nothing to him, but he had an uneasy feeling he would not like their meaning.

The slow parade continued, and then, for the longest while, there was no one, and Severus feared he’d missed the young man somehow. He was just about to give up on waiting and go get to the bottom of this Animus Secretum business when his Mark gave a mysterious jolt, accompanied by a muffled bang from the direction of Loraina’s classroom.

For a moment, Severus was paralysed with confusion and dread. Try as he might, he could think of no explanation for the phenomenon. When Harry had demolished Albus’ office, the disturbance in his Dark Mark had been pronounced and enduring, but nothing associated with his Mark was ever benign. He forced his limbs into animation, moving quickly down the hall, baffled and fearing the worst.

But before he reached his destination, Harry and Hermione appeared strolling down the corridor looking unharmed and very much on friendly terms. Severus stopped short and stepped out of sight, attempting to calm himself. He wasn’t sure what he had expected to be wrong, especially here in the Castle, but his Mark was quiet, and Harry was apparently fine. Feeling a bit foolish for panicking, he quickly composed himself and continued down the hall with Loraina’s potion, forcing himself to do so leisurely so as not to betray the tenacious pounding of his heart. Again, Harry was inordinately interested in the Potions Master’s presence, but as before, Severus seemingly ignored him.

When Severus met Loraina at her door, prepared to demand explanations, he found her covered in dust with bits of what appeared to be gravel in her hair. He slowed, eying her up and down, trying to work out the reason for it.

“What in Hermes’ name?” he began with a scowl, but she interrupted him giddily.

“The boy is a marvel!” she squealed quietly when he was in earshot, clapping her hands like an excited toddler.

Severus’ scowl deepened but was more insincere for it. He was finding it hard to stay genuinely annoyed with her. He had probably overreacted anyway, he reasoned. He had no idea why he was so excitable recently. With an exasperated sigh, he handed her her medicine. She held it up briefly to watch it sparkle before uncorking it and tossing it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her chalky hand.

“What is Animus Secretum?” Severus demanded with mock sternness, holding his hand out for his phial.

She gave him a sly smile as she passed it to him. “It’s a secret, obviously,” she teased. But Severus was not in such a playful mood.

“Loraina, what did you have the boy do?” he persisted.

“I merely had him reach inside himself and unleash the power within him.”

Severus stared at her for a moment, hoping he’d misunderstood. Merely? She’d _merely_ had him intentionally dig around inside himself where a piece of the Dark Bloody Lord resided? Actually, on further reflection, he might have under-reacted.

“Reach inside of himself?” he sputtered. “Loraina,” Severus started angrily, pausing to rein in his temper. “Do you even _know_ what is inside of him?” he hissed.

“I do now,” she shrugged cockily, refusing to repent. Severus had to suppress the urge to lay hands on her.

Damned infuriating woman! Swanning into Severus’ precariously balanced world and playing games with the fucking ‘Chosen One’ as if she had some concept of what he was or what that meant. She’d been in the goddamned woods for too long, and she was going to get them killed. Severus was dangerously close to a tirade their relationship might not recover from when he heard Granger’s voice carry loudly down the corridor.

“ _Harry!_ ”

Severus’ anger turned to fear with alarming speed, and he almost instantly forgot about Loraina. He left her smirking in her doorway to turn and stride quickly toward the cry, resolving not to panic until he knew he had reason, though there was no telling what Loraina’s experiment might have triggered. When he rounded the corner, however, all Severus found was Draco Malfoy seated on the floor with blood running down his chin. He was being tended to by Granger, of all people, as Harry loomed over him with his fist clenched and his knuckles bloody. Severus heaved a sigh of relief, then one of annoyance. It was fairly obvious what had happened.

“Harry Potter!” Severus reprimanded, sweeping over to the scene.

Harry started guiltily and stepped away from the blonde boy, and Severus moved past him to kneel and assess Draco’s injury. The scent of blood nearly toppled him. He felt his fangs extend and pursed his lips to prevent their discovery, throwing Harry a resentful glare.

“Detention,” he proclaimed tersely as he inspected Draco's broken nose. He set the bone with a spell that caused Draco to yelp, then cleared away the blood with a scouring spell, but it still poured fresh from both nostrils.

“ _Until further notice_ ,” he added with an irritated growl, helping the bleeding boy to his feet. “Come, Draco, we may as well get you to the infirmary,” he muttered, mad enough to spit thinking of the long walk there with the wafting scent of spilled blood inundating his senses. At least the boy wasn’t a fucking virgin.

“I'll take him, Professor,” Granger offered, pulling a handkerchief from her bag and holding it delicately to Draco's nose.

 _Oh, thank gods_. Harry appeared even more shocked than Severus felt. The man noticed she deliberately did not look at Harry as she and Draco turned to shuffle away. Perhaps she and Harry hadn’t entirely made up from their tiff, after all.

As he had feared it might, Severus’ Mark tingled, but it was mild. He watched Harry seethe as he followed their progress down the hall, and it troubled Severus.

The young man simply could not continue this way. His aggression was eating away at him. Severus had little doubt Draco had done something well deserving of violence, but that didn’t mean Harry had any right to actually beat the spoiled little shit. He must learn to control himself, and not just outwardly. Harry had to learn to quiet, and not merely contain, his anger. Severus knew he would have to be the one to help him in it, as no one else seemed nearly bloody worried enough about the matter, but he wasn’t sure how to go about the task.

“Harry,” he called, barely managing to distract the young man from his turmoil. When Harry pulled himself back to the present, he seemed instantly chagrined, and Severus’ Mark fell silent.

“I expect you in my offices this evening. At Dinnertime. Do you understand?” Severus said evenly.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry replied, sounding resigned.

Severus regarded him for a moment longer and then nodded curtly and strode away. He was less than satisfied with the exchange despite that he’d experienced no cheek from the young man. He’d almost sooner he had. It would have been more in keeping with Harry’s character. The boy had changed, and Severus wasn't sure the development was welcome.

Severus brooded on the problem all through next period, and when the last of his students filed from the room, he quickly retired to his lab. Casting about for dirty dishes, he soon became annoyed at his own fastidious housekeeping. Severus needed to clean something. He often did, hence the lack, but there was nothing here that required it. He returned to the classroom and examined the offerings there, finding several inadequately scoured cauldrons and carrying them to the sink before rolling back his sleeves.

The work quickly centred him. He did not think about Harry or Draco or Loraina. He thought of nothing but the efficient removal of residue from the bottom of the cauldron he worked. Severus allowed calm to settle over him. He always thought more clearly afterwards, but the act itself was rewarding, as well. He was reaching for a third pot when he abruptly stopped and looked closely at what he was doing - what he always did when he was overwhelmed - and the answer to his problem seemed suddenly so simple. He’d intended to have Harry do this same thing for his detention, anyway, knowing the young man would foolishly find the exercise distasteful. But what if he could be shown it could be something more?

Severus left the cauldrons where they were so Harry would have plenty to scour himself and returned to his office to pace while he waited for the young man to arrive. He thought he knew what Harry needed, but he didn’t know how to go about giving it to him. Harry was not cerebral. Not that he was wholly unintelligent, he merely was a doer, was resistant to concepts he couldn’t connect with through action. Severus resolved he would not explain the activity, else Harry might overthink it, which was precisely what they were hoping to avoid. He’d see if the young man hit on it on his own, as Severus had long ago.

Severus answered Harry's knock promptly, and he found the boy’s manner as he stood waiting for admittance was docile and hangdog. Severus knew the young man didn’t regret his actions, and he wasn’t sure he understood the sheepishness of Harry’s expression. He’d worry about it later. Severus turned toward the Potions classroom. That Harry was meant to follow went without saying, and he did, his head hung and feet shuffling with every step.

“Cauldrons,” was all Severus said before seating himself at his desk. He pulled a stack of essays over and began grading, completely ignoring Harry's presence to give him the space he needed to settle into the work.

He was aware that Harry stood and glared at him for just a moment before rolling up his sleeves, but he pretended not to have, or else he’d have to reprimand him for his disrespect, and that would not serve to calm him. The process of cleaning did not seem to help, anyway, though. It was not long before Severus heard the frenzied scrape of steel wool on metal. He looked up as Harry attacked his most recent cauldron with a fervour that bordered on violence. Severus set down his quill and watched him.

The young man wasn’t even really looking at what he was doing. He stared, unfocused, at the wall in front of him, his expression reacting to some internal dialogue; sometimes smirking, sometimes grimacing. Harry tossed the cauldron aside and snatched up another, and Severus rose warily to his feet.

This continued for a while. The young man plowed through a few more pots, becoming more and more agitated with each until eventually, Severus’ Mark began to tingle. Harry reached for another cauldron, but Severus stopped him.

“Enough,” he said softly.

He wasn’t sure if the young man would hear him through his self-induced frenzy, but it seemed he did, as Severus’ Mark quieted and Harry’s hands stilled. His face was flushed, but Severus was certain the blood he smelled was not simply what was warming the surface of the young man’s cheeks. Severus stepped up beside him and took hold of Harry’s wrist to examine his hand. The young man’s fingertips were raw, and his nails were ruined. Severus investigated each lesion while Harry fixed his gaze stubbornly on the far wall. As Severus considered the treatment necessary for the young man’s wounds, Harry’s stomach growled loudly, and Harry ignored it, ignored everything, including his wrist still grasped by the Potions Master’s fingers. Severus finished his examination but didn't relinquish Harry's hand.

The experiment had been an abysmal failure. At least, so far. Harry had plenty of detentions ahead of him, but if he repeated this performance, Severus would have to try another tact. He studied the young man carefully. Teenagers were renowned for their angst, but there seemed more to Harry’s anger. It was to be expected, considering, he supposed.

Severus wondered, had he not been the constant object of the Dark Lord’s ire for his entire life, would Harry even be here now serving detention? Would he have been studious and rule-abiding like Granger, or like Severus himself had been? Or would he, perhaps, have been more like his father: arrogant because of his looks, casually cruel because he was charming enough to be forgiven by those who would punish him? It was a depressing thought, but perhaps the boy was better for all his challenges. It was true Harry was in detention because he had struck another student, but though Severus did not know the reasons behind it, he suspected it was in retaliation of some sort. Harry was not the bully his father had been.

In fact, Harry was not a bad person, Severus suddenly realised. He routinely stood up for those weaker and less fortunate. He risked himself (often foolishly, granted) to help others, to right perceived wrongs, though he rarely paused long enough to ensure his assumptions were accurate. In truth, his worst sin seemed to be his impulsiveness. Severus’ reaction to the piece of darkness left behind by the Dark Lord when he had attempted to kill the boy was something the Potions Master was only recently coming to understand. And he realised he’d spent much of the past several years looking for flaws in the boy in order to rationalise an aversion he couldn’t otherwise explain.

Until now.

Harry met Severus’ analytic stare, but he could not hold the Potions Master’s eye. In fact, Severus feared for a moment he may begin to cry, and he gently released the young man, unexpectedly troubled to think he might be the cause of it. Harry held his injured hands to his chest and stared blankly at the sink, and Severus felt he had failed the boy somehow.

“Tell me, Harry. Did tonight's activities seem like punishment to you?” he asked.

Harry gritted his teeth. “Yes, Sir.”

Severus sighed. Their relationship was so strained, Harry likely would not have accepted any comfort from the man, even if Severus had had any idea how to express it. Albus seemed to think it was a simple matter of them deciding to get along, but Severus couldn’t magically disappear years of mutual hostility. He went to the cabinet to retrieve a small jar of healing salve which he pressed to Harry's palm so the boy would not have to employ his damaged fingers.

“Same time tomorrow, Potter,” he told him quietly. Harry nodded without replying or making eye contact and left.

After he’d gone, Severus sat back down at his desk, but he ignored his work. He feared Loraina had been right. He was prejudiced against the boy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t already been aware that he harboured some amount of distaste for the young man simply by virtue of who sired him, but he’d genuinely thought that the lion’s share of his disdain was justified. Seeing Harry as he did now, he was no longer so sure, and he suspected that he had inadvertently and unnecessarily added to the young man’s already significant burdens. Severus had always tried to keep him safe, he thought defensively. Always. But he’d never been gracious, and he’d very rarely, if ever, been kind.

 _He’s still infuriating_ , Severus thought peevishly. _And defiant and completely unmanageable._ But Severus thought he might _try_ to treat him more evenly. Though, he made no promises. Not even to himself.

Harry arrived at Severus' offices again the next night at the prescribed hour. Again, Severus led him with no prelude to the classroom. Harry turned automatically to the sink, but Severus stopped him.

“Hands,” he demanded, holding out one of his own to receive them.

Harry offered one for inspection. Severus scrutinized his fingers. They were almost completely healed, but they still seemed too raw for the work the young man would be doing, or at least, for him to do it with focus. He retrieved more salve from the cabinet and personally worked it into various cracks on and between the young man’s fingers which Harry had apparently missed the night before. If they weren’t sealed, the cleaning potion would sting.

When he was finished, after examining Harry's fingers once more and deeming them satisfactory, he simply said, “Cauldrons,” and went to his desk.

Harry was more careful this time and also much slower. Too slow. Several times he seemed to forget what he was doing, drifting off into thought and merely standing there, wool in hand; and each time, upon noticing, Severus would simply say: “Harry.” It was enough to wake him back to his task, and the boy would resume his chore. The pile of clean cauldrons, however, was much smaller than the night before.

Severus supposed it was progress. His Mark hadn’t stirred, but the young man had swung to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. He was not getting lost in anger and frustration, but he was still getting lost, was still was not mindful of what he was doing.

“So. Did this feel like punishment, Harry?” Severus asked him again.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said mechanically, still not looking at him as he did so.

Severus stared at him quietly for a moment. He had been careful since even before their previous detention to speak calmly to the young man. Though apparently, the automatic assumption on Harry’s part was that Severus was somehow being sadistic, regardless. Severus scowled, pulling out his wand and summoning a plate with two pieces of dry toast. The young man made no move to take it from him, so he thrust it into Harry's hands so that he had no choice but to accept it or else let it fall to the floor.

He winced at himself. This calm patience business would take some getting used to. They both had work to do.

“Tomorrow.”


	20. I Promise You; Were't Not for Shame

**Before: Remus**

Curfew came and went, and there was no sign of Harry. Though he was disappointed about not getting to visit with the young man, Remus considered it a good sign. They’d had many polite teas filled with only brief and pleasant chatting, but Harry most often came to Remus to be comforted. Hopefully, his absence meant he was not in need of it.

Still, Remus could not say he wasn’t relieved when he finally heard Harry’s resolute knock at his door, and he rose cheerfully to answer it.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming tonight,” Remus remarked with a smile to Harry’s disembodied head peeking from atop his invisibility cloak. He was becoming inured to the sight. The boy’s intense expression, however, was another matter. It made Remus shiver, but he brushed it off. It was getting easier to do so despite the previous night’s lapse in resolve. No doubt Harry would explain his mood momentarily, anyway.

“Come in, the tea's ready,” he said warmly, going in ahead to pour it. But when Remus turned back to him to verify how the boy would take it (sometimes Harry wanted milk, and sometimes he did not), he found Harry had not followed him to the sofa as usual. Remus straightened slowly, wondering if he should be concerned, but Harry didn’t seem distressed. Off, somehow, but not upset.

Harry leaned against the door, and there was something new in his features; something Remus was familiar enough with but not on this face. He concluded his imagination was merely overactive, and he ignored the suspected sense that it was not only his own heart that hammered.

“Harry?” he said uncertainly. “Are you alright?” he asked, drawn back to the boy but almost afraid to approach him at the same time. “What-?”

And that’s when, without a word from the young man, Harry pushed off from the door, and his cloak fell from his shoulders making the rest of him suddenly visible. He wore only his school robe which hung open to show nothing beneath but boxer shorts. He wasn’t even wearing shoes.

Remus froze, alarm and confusion chasing each other across his face. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with an explanation beyond the obvious. Because it couldn’t be that. It was wishful thinking. It was fantasy. Remus was a man, after all. And old enough to be Harry’s father, besides. That look in his eyes, which seemed a reflection of Remus’ inner desire, could not be for the werewolf. Something must be wrong, something Remus couldn’t immediately fathom.

Asking, though, was difficult. Remus swallowed hard. Then again.

“Harry, I don't understand,” he said shakily, wetting his lips. “Has something happened? Are you...okay?”

But though his words sought to comfort, his self-control crumbled, and he could no longer prevent his gaze from becoming keen and drifting to the broad swath of exposed flesh showing from beneath Harry’s gaping robe like an offering. The subtle but perfect and undeniable definition of Harry’s chest and stomach lay bare, as well as the spattering of scars that told the tale of a life harder than most. The unambiguous swell in his pants was outlined by the cling of thin fabric. The curve of the muscles of each of his inner thighs, strengthened by the practice of grasping a broomstick between them, peeked tantalisingly from behind the black fabric.

Remus felt faint. Instead of rushing forward to console him, as he should if he suspected distress, Remus took a small step back. One of his hands was half-raised at his side as it could not decide whether it wanted to reach for Harry or else shield Remus from him somehow. If this was some further test, as before in Severus’ quarters, it was a cruel one. Remus’ improper interest had already been established, but hopefully so had his commitment to ignoring it.

Harry’s expression did not waver. Though it made no logical sense, Remus was coming slowly to accept that this was not a test. It was a challenge. An invitation.

A request.

But was it really illogical? Remus revisited every interaction he’d had with the young man since he’d come out of mourning: Harry’s stepping out of Severus’ washroom without a shirt, his almost flirtatious glances as they traversed the dungeons, his frequent touch, his regular presence in Remus’ quarters after curfew, and his refusal of Hermione. Perhaps this was not as sudden as it seemed. Perhaps Remus had refused to see it. He had been too busy discouraging his own impulses to recognise and discourage Harry’s.

Though Remus abruptly recognised his miscalculation, the realisation that his feelings were, in fact, requited caused Remus’ heart to veritably explode with grateful elation. But in the very next instant, all the reasons they could not be allowed, regardless of mutuality, snuffed the blaze and paralysed him.

As Remus helplessly wrestled with this cascade of revelations, Harry fixed the man with an intent look and stalked unsteadily forward until he was scant inches away from Remus’ outstretched hand as if daring it to do what it so obviously craved. But Remus could not - would not - accept the gift being offered to him. Though, he could not lower his hand, either, and Harry impatiently took hold of Remus by the wrist and gently forced his palm flat against the bare skin of Harry's chest.

The contact was electric, sending a jolt the length of his body. Remus' inhale was a hiss. This should not happen. It must not happen. And yet it was, and he was far too weak to prevent it. Willingly or not, he’d fantasised about just this: drinking in the texture of the young man’s skin, memorising its curves and contours, feeling it warm beneath his touch. But the fantasy was forbidden, was as disgraceful as it was delicious. Remus stood stock-still, glaring at the appendage as if it did not belong to him and was no longer under his control. Then carefully, Harry released Remus' wrist. But though it was freed, it could not escape. It was as if they two were magnetised and the effort necessary to remove it was greater than that needed to allow it to remain.

Remus' eyes closed momentarily, and he resolved to taste this sample and be done with it, to appreciate the sensation and seek no more. But Remus' hand seemed to move independently of his intention, and he watched with both gratitude and horror as it slid up toward Harry's neck. How his lips longed to taste the young man just here. Harry threw his head back to accommodate it with an encouraging sigh, and the gentle sound further shattered Remus’ self-control. Harry was so pliant and willing. Remus ran a reverent thumb down the side of Harry's jaw, imagining it was his tongue that traced it instead. His eyelids fluttered in anticipation as he watched his hand sliding over to Harry's shoulder, parting his robe further to reveal more of Harry that it might visit.

He’d gone so far already, was so intoxicated by the touch, that the reasons for stopping were becoming more and more distant. There was only this, only skin on skin and nothing seemed to matter except that it continue. He ran his hand, splay-fingered, down over Harry's chest, feeling the answering pulse of the young man’s heart tap beneath his palm before his thumb carefully and intentionally grazed Harry's hardening nipple as it passed. Harry gasped, pressing himself into the touch, and Remus could not deny that he loved the young man’s responsiveness. Oh, what Remus could make him do if he dared. He could have the young man writhing, sighing, crying out. If given the opportunity, he could make the boy weep with pleasure.

Remus was still lost in imagining doing just that when Harry came at him. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him, why he thought the encounter would end with just a stroke of his hand when Harry had obviously come here tonight with a purpose. The young man grasped him by the back of the neck and pulled Remus’ lips to his own. Remus resisted. He used the hand resting against the young man’s flesh to push him away. But the effort was half-hearted, too trembling and weak to be effective.

And so Harry kissed him. He was awkward and inexperienced but decisive. That alone, Harry’s clearly unseasoned kiss, should have been enough to snap Remus out of it, to make him stop this madness. But Harry’s insistence spoke to Remus’ yearning, and the two bypassed Remus’ better judgement and seemed to join hands, pulling Remus reluctantly into damnation.

The man’s resistance wavered and then dissolved completely, and he surrendered. So many lines had already been crossed, what did it matter now if he opened his mouth to Harry, pushing past Harry's lips with a ravenous tongue as he brought a hand up to cradle the back of Harry's head? So much had already been explored, what further harm was there in his other hand skating knowledgeably over the parts of young man's torso yet unvisited?

Harry responded enthusiastically, kissing Remus back with just as much fervour though considerably less skill. Remus could taste his inexperience, but oh, how quickly the young man learned. And how could this feel so right? So effortless? So divine despite Harry’s slight fumbles? And then Remus remembered, with sudden and aching clarity, _why_ this gorgeous young man was not familiar with this activity.

He was not allowed to do this. With anyone, and not just with Remus because of who they were. Harry was protected by archaic magic whose effectiveness absolutely required that the boy be unpracticed, untouched. And yet here was Remus, the very man charged with his safety and well-being, threatening those safeguards.

Harry moaned into Remus' mouth, and the sound woke the man properly to what was happening. His eyes flew open, and all at once he realised, with horror, what he was doing, and the impact it could have, and how far reaching the consequences could be. Remus wrenched himself away with a gasp. The same hand that had sought to conquer the young man moments ago now held him at arm's length.

Harry seemed disoriented by Remus’ sudden absence. He whimpered and reached for Remus, but the man quickly distanced himself. He took several stumbling steps back, his eyes squeezed shut against the pained and confused expression on Harry’s face, his hand still outstretched to discourage him from approaching.

“What? What is it?” Harry asked, his breathless words slurred through kiss-plumped lips. “Didn't you like it?” The hurt and desperation in his voice wounded. “Remus? Isn't this what you want?” he asked, taking a small step forward despite the warding hand and slipping his robe off entirely to pool at his feet. The sight was almost physically jarring. There were few things, if any, that Remus had ever wanted more, and Harry’s posture of offering was torturous.

Remus looked back up at Harry as if coming out of a daze. His lust-clouded eyes cleared as he ran them the length of his now almost completely naked ward.

Gods. Harry was a child. True, he was on the cusp of manhood and held many of its charms. But he was far too young to truly understand what he was doing. Offering himself to a sexually experienced adult was in no way the same as exploring physically with his peers. He had no way of knowing that, though. Remus, however, understood it only too well, and he shuddered to think on what he’d almost done, on the sin he’d almost committed. He hid his face in his hands, muffling the stream of denial that poured from his lips.

“Remus, it's okay,” Harry insisted, reaching out to the man. “I'm of age. I’m sixteen. I can consent,” he said, lip trembling. “I want this, too,” Harry pleaded, his voice cracking under the pressure of his need.

With every word, Harry made the horror of it even worse. Sixteen. Good gods, _Sixteen_.

“What have I done?” Remus whispered. He looked at Harry again, standing in nothing but his boxer shorts which did nothing to conceal Harry's desire. Remus had done that. He had intentionally placed hands on and aroused the boy. Remus felt ill. He diverted his eyes, determined not to look at Harry again until he had covered the boy's nakedness. But he could find nothing to clothe him in besides the discarded robe at Harry’s feet, which would have required Remus to kneel too close to…

The mental image Remus had then of diving to his knees and taking Harry into his mouth was almost violently involuntary. Remus recoiled from it, ripping off his own cardigan and draping it over Harry's shoulders. He overlapped the front across Harry's chest and forced the boy to hold it there. But having covered him, he jerked his hands away and hastily stepped back again to collapse against the arm of the sofa.

“Remus,” Harry said in a small voice, clutching the knitting closed under his chin. He was trembling and near to tears from frustration and embarrassment. “ _Please_. Don't do this.”

“I have no intention,” Remus said, angry with himself for having come so close. He swallowed his shame and self-loathing and looked up at Harry apologetically. “Harry, this is wrong,” he said, willing the young man to understand. “So much about this is wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-”

“Don't be!” Harry pleaded, trying to approach him.

“Don't come any closer, Harry!” Remus gasped. His want was still too strong. He shook his head. “You could not possibly think this would...th-that I...” Remus groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was a little heartbroken that Harry must consider him that kind of man. He was wretched realising that he had almost been. “Harry, I think you should leave now,” Remus said, so disappointed in every aspect of this situation. He pointed at the door, but his eyes fell closed. He could not bear to see the hurt of rejection on the young man’s face.

Without another word, Harry snatched up his invisibility cloak where he'd abandoned it, threw it on, and bolted clumsily through the door, slamming it behind him. Once he was gone, Remus sank to his knees. For a moment, his anguish was too overwhelming to voice, but after the initial, crushing wave ebbed, he began to sob. This was his fault. His pain and Harry’s both were his fault. If he hadn’t been so weak and foolish, Harry would never have known of Remus’ attraction. He would never have considered it and been tempted to return it. His curiosity would never have been piqued.

But how was Remus to know the boy was gay? Had Harry even realised it before Remus had brought the matter to the fore by confessing his relationship with Sirius? Undoubtedly this was why Harry was still so pure. Despite the spell, there should have been other close encounters. Remus remembered himself as a boy. He recalled the confusion and frustration, the loneliness and the lack of opportunity. He remembered watching James and Sirius entertain a series of romantic dalliances and them trying to foist several very pretty, very interested prospects on Remus, though he refused them all without understanding exactly why for the longest time.

Remus also realised that his own first encounters had been with a man far too old for him, as well. It was sadly true for so many young men of their inclination. The absence of potential lovers among his peers had opened Remus to candidates most would not have considered. He had recognised his feelings for James at that point. And despite his whisky-fueled confession, Sirius was Sirius, ladies' man extraordinaire. Remus had not allowed himself to accept that the boy had been sincere in his interest at the time. And even if it were true, he hadn’t wanted to hurt him, fearing he could not return Sirius’ affection when his heart was held firmly by their friend. He had not wanted to risk irreparably queering one of his only close friendships.

And so it had been to another that Remus had first given himself, a friend of his father's whose secret but knowledgeable stare had flattered the young man. He had not been meant to be a lover, only someone with confident experience who could initiate Remus into this confusing realm with which James and Sirius were so familiar. Remus did not - could not - know at the time that there was a vast difference in the circumstances. He did not understand then that their separation in years was not the only factor that deviated, and what he experienced was not equal to what his friends experienced with others their own age.

For a long while, Remus blamed himself for the shame he had always felt afterwards. After all, he had indicated an openness to the man’s advances. He had not turned him away when he first crept into Remus’ room while the boy’s father was not at home. He allowed the encounters even when he did not wish them and, after a time, occasionally sought them out. He naively told himself it was just sex. He would not understand until much later that sex was rarely ever just sex. He was confused by the feelings their activities evoked in him. Even when he hadn’t really participated, if he had truly disliked what was being done to him, would he still have climaxed? Could he really claim unwillingness when his body responded so enthusiastically under the man’s insistent and practised hand? If he thought himself so used, why had it still hurt when the man had abandoned him in disgust after discovering Remus’ condition?

Years would pass before Remus came to understand that he had been a victim, that the relationship had been predatory. Remus had been too young to know better, but his abuser had not been. He had manipulated Remus, had intentionally taken advantage of his youth and inexperience.

And Remus refused to be that man. He refused to exploit Harry’s innocence, to allow the young man’s advances and then carry them further than Harry could yet know he wanted and then lay the blame at Harry’s feet for initiating it. Consent meant nothing if Harry could not appreciate what it was he was consenting to. Remus was the worldly one. It was his responsibility to walk away.

And he must literally walk away. He could not just refuse the boy and pretend none of this had happened. His feelings for him were too strong, and Harry’s could not be encouraged, even accidentally. Remus had to leave Hogwarts. And he had to do it immediately.

Remus picked himself from the floor and strode out of his door the instant he made up his mind to go. He felt naked without his cardigan, was as self-conscious as if he were actually undressed when he considered where his woollen armour really was and why. It was a disaster, but it was one Remus intended to remedy now as well as he could. He spoke the password to Albus’ office so that the statue moved aside before he arrived at it, allowing him to pass it without breaking stride. He climbed the stairs instead of riding them, feeling that if he hesitated, he would baulk and be unable to voice the necessary confession. Remus even left the door swinging open behind him as he stumbled toward Albus' desk to profess, with no prelude, in a rush to the shocked Headmaster, “Albus. I cannot do this any longer.”

The man’s surprise quickly transitioned to suspicion.

“Cannot do what, exactly?” Albus asked tersely, his eyes narrowed. Though, by Remus' dishevelled state and reluctance to meet his eye, Albus seemed to guess at the answer. Remus did not respond immediately. He hung his head, sitting heavily on the arm of the nearest chair, his cheeks still wet from earlier. For all his hurried resolve, these words were so hard to speak aloud to a man for whom he held such respect, who had placed such confidence in Remus by naming him the guardian of the prophesied saviour of the Wizarding World. He felt so much shame in having to disabuse the Headmaster of his high regard.

“My feelings for Harry have become...inappropriate, and our time together too intimate,” Remus confessed softly to the floor. Albus was quiet for a time, and Remus felt his critical gaze like a spotlight illuminating his guilt.

“I see,” he said, pulling in a deep, disquieted breath. “Have you...?”

“No,” Remus said, shaking his head. “No!” he insisted, his horror on understanding the unspoken portion of the man’s question allowing him to meet Albus’ eye for the first time since bursting into his office. “No,” he repeated more calmly, more sheepishly, “but I...” He swallowed and wet his lips nervously. “I no longer trust myself to behave professionally,” he admitted, his eyes drifting away again, unable to bear the condemnation they found in the Headmaster's.

“Have you made advances?” Albus' voice was low and hard. They had gone to such lengths to ensure Harry’s innocence, and if Albus suspected Remus was to blame…

“Albus, I swear,” he started, shaking his head emphatically. Surely his breach of self-control could not be considered a solicitation. Not a conscious one, at least.

“So it was him?” Albus asked, not nearly as sceptical as Remus might have been in the professor's place.

Remus didn't answer, he only squeezed his eyes shut, trying but failing to exorcise the memory of what had just happened. He would never forget the look on Harry’s face as he had approached him, nor the determination in his grip as he took Remus by the wrist to force his touch. He didn’t particularly want to forget, he merely felt he should and that coveting the memory made him despicable.

Albus nodded solemnly. “We knew there would be complications when the spell broke,” he sighed. “I'm almost surprised some issue did not arise before now.” Remus raised a cautious but hopeful look to the man. He had expected to have to beg for his understanding. “Though, I confess I never suspected this particular scenario,” Albus went on uneasily. “Of course, these impulses are only natural for a boy his age,” he reasoned, perhaps trying to comfort himself and not necessarily Remus. “And you are only human, after all, Remus. However, I admit to finding myself deeply disappointed by this turn of events.”

Albus seemed to be attempting sympathy, but Remus could tell he would not escape this without a certain measure of condemnation.

“I'm returning to Grimmauld Place,” Remus said, thoroughly defeated. Perhaps the Headmaster could tell punishment was unnecessary, as Remus was already punishing himself. “I'll leave tonight. I'm not sure there was much else of real value I could have taught him, anyway.”

“Very well,” Albus acceded sadly.

Remus stood but hesitated to go. He wanted to both proclaim his innocence and confess his guilt. He wanted to convey the complexity of the situation. He hated leaving the matter with Albus’ respect for him so obviously damaged. But there really was nothing to say besides, “I am sorry, Albus.”

“As am I,” the man replied quietly. Remus turned and trudged gravely toward the still-open doorway when Albus spoke again. “Harry. If you would be so kind as to remain behind, I'd like to have a word with you.”

Remus froze.

_No._

No, the young man could not be here! He could not have been allowed to witness Remus’ admission and his disgrace. Shattered, Remus watched Harry pull his invisibility cloak from his face, and despite the contrition he found there, Remus was suddenly angered. The boy had no right to see this, nor had he had any to force its necessity. Deeply hurt, Remus turned away from Harry’s imploring expression and fled down the stair.

“Harry,” he heard Albus warn sternly behind him. “Harry James Potter, come back here!”

Remus knew the boy followed but didn’t have the strength left in him to stop and speak with him. He could not discuss what had happened. He was too wretched to explain himself.

Though, he should. Harry would not understand Remus’ shame and might mistake it for some flaw in himself which led Remus to reject him. He did not want the young man to feel the same humiliation Remus had felt when the man who had taken his virginity turned him from his bed for being an abomination. But Remus was spent, and he wasn’t certain Harry would accept his explanation, anyway. Harry managed to catch Remus by the arm before he reached the foot of the stair, however, and turned him to face him whether he could bear it or not.

“Remus, you can't go,” he said plaintively, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Harry, I will not have this conversation with you,” he barked. But he checked himself. Harry was clearly hurting as much as he was. Remus could not look at him, so his eyes anxiously searched the stone walls around them instead, as if his dignity might be found there. “Maybe...if I was a better man,” he began helplessly.

“You're the best man I know,” Harry interrupted, his voice small and broken. The darling, naive child.

“It's too late, Harry,” Remus said sadly, fighting back his own tears as he gently removed Harry's hand from his arm. “The damage has been done.”

“What damage?” Harry demanded. “I'm old enough to decide. _Have_ decided. And you aren't my professor.”

“No. I'm your guardian,” Remus sneered bitterly, hating himself.

“Bollocks. Who cares?” Harry spat.

As if it were so simple. As if they could just disregard the context, ignore that Remus was meant to be his protector and not his violator. Even though Harry did not know about the magic protecting him, the situation was still clearly inappropriate.

“Look, I'm sorry,” he rushed to continue when Remus began to turn away. “Remus? I'm sorry. I was wrong,” he said, the grasping desperation in his voice cutting Remus like a knife to the heart. “Please.” Each pleading word wounded them both further. “I just...I want…” he stammered as if knowing nothing he could say would sway the man. “Just stay,” he wept quietly.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Remus whispered with more aching and regret than the three fragile words should have been capable of carrying. Turning his back on the young man then was the single hardest thing Remus had ever done in his life. The effort required made him physically ill. The boy was in pain, and it was intolerable. Every cell in Remus’ body screamed at him to turn back, to take Harry in his arms and comfort him. But somehow Remus managed to resist, to keep moving forward...away.

“But you said you'd always be here!” Harry shouted tearfully at Remus' retreating back; a challenge, a reproach, an entreaty.

Remus paused, his eyes falling closed as he accepted just how miserably he’d failed the young man. He had promised that, had meant it, but it was a promise he could no longer keep. For Harry’s sake, Remus must make himself a liar, a breaker of oaths.

“You can't make a promise like that and just run away,” the young man spat accusingly. “You coward!”

No other words could have hurt Remus more. The man glanced over his shoulder, forcing himself to look at Harry, to take in every detail of the young man’s suffering no matter how painful it was to behold. Remus did not deserve to be spared it. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing he said could possibly be adequate. Nothing could repair what he had broken. And so in the end, Remus just shook his head regretfully and continued on, sending Harry a silent apology like a prayer, and returned to his rooms to remove himself from the young man’s life. Possibly forever.


	21. So I Might Have Your Company in Hell

**Now: Remus**

The werewolf cursed lightly under his breath. They were running again. There was no way he could keep up with hunting vampires. Not unless he transformed. And while he might not have been entirely opposed to the idea, considering the circumstances, there was no time for it. Almost as soon as it occurred to him, the boundary of the memory caught up with him and sent him staggering. Each time he seemed to find his footing, it pitched him forward again. Instead of running, Remus was being dragged, doing his best to avoid the obstacles that came hurtling toward him in the form of trees and underbrush. Limbs and leaves caught him as they whooshed by, tearing his clothes and skin, giving him no opportunity to extract himself from the Pensieve.

He was wondering what happened when one died in it, and if that were even possible, when Severus seized him by the arm and swung him up onto his back. Remus was too relieved to bother with surprise.

The man ran a little way with him, but though Severus was strong enough, Remus was too large to carry effectively. The vampire was top heavy and lumbering. Abruptly, Remus found himself on the floor of Minerva’s office. Severus yanked them there mid-stride, throwing them both into the cabinetry. The structure shuddered, tinkled, and a few baubles fell from their perches, but nothing seemed to break. All in all, it was far quieter and tamer than Remus might have expected considering the chaos he’d just been pulled from. They lay where they were for a while to recover.

“I'm sorry, Severus,” Remus panted, as winded from fright and adrenaline as from exertion. He was bleeding, and his clothes were torn, but the dirt and litter from the Forest floor had not followed him to the outside world. He was clean but battered.

Severus waved off his apology as he picked himself up from the floor.

“I’m sorry I didn’t remember sooner how you struggled the last time,” he said, helping the other man to his feet. “We should treat these,” he fretted, eyeing the cuts dripping red down Remus’ cheek with a frown.

“I can do that myself,” Remus told him, handing Severus his wand. He could tell the man had hated to leave before the memory was finished, but Remus could not join him there again until the hunt was over. “Go back in. I’ll take care of these. You can tell me what you found later.”

Severus nodded gratefully, disappearing into the Pensieve almost immediately. It had been his idea, and the matter was urgent, but Remus couldn't help but be disappointed with how quickly and easily he’d been left alone. He really should know to expect nothing less even now. Whatever was between the two men was newborn, and nothing Remus could imagine could rival Severus’s obsession with Harry. As he limped his way to the floo, he was reminded sharply of the war, and Harry and Severus during it, and how often Remus had found himself alone to contemplate them.

Though, perhaps not wholly alone. She wasn’t a constant companion, but Rainey had commiserated with the werewolf on more than one occasion then and since. Their respective chagrin at the situation seemed to dilute their natural disinclination for one another. Remus had never considered them friends, but they had been allies in more than just battle. Severus seemed to think Remus didn’t understand the woman, but Remus felt he understood her only too well.

Grimmauld Place was still dripping when he returned to it. The carpet on the stairs squished as he climbed them. It was going to be hell repairing the damage if it wasn’t cleaned up soon, but Remus couldn’t concentrate on such mundanities at the moment.

The night before the war ended, Severus had rushed up these very stairs and into Harry’s arms with the same intent and single-minded expression he’d just worn into the Pensieve, ignoring the troops who had spilled into the halls to hear news of the coming battle. He had been overdue by days. They’d had no word at all from him, and the whole household had languished restlessly in his absence, wondering if the jig was finally up, wondering if their Potions Master had departed for good, if their resistance was at a standstill.

Of course, there had been at least three Order members who had been less concerned about the war and more about the man, and the uncertainty of his absence had driven them all to distraction. Truthfully, it was its effect on Harry that had most bothered Remus. He had been merely fascinated by Severus at the time. It was the Chosen One Remus was infatuated with, and it was Severus that One adored. Remus could see the helplessness and panic creep up on Harry as the days dragged on with no word, but the young man would accept no comfort. More than once, after Harry had politely brushed away Remus’ concern to brood alone in his bedroom, and Remus was left bruised by the rejection, the man had glanced over to find Hogwarts’ newest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor watching from the shadows with a knowing smirk. Remus had supposed that the smiles that curled her lip were just some recognition of and dark amusement at his moral deviance; until the night Severus finally reappeared.

While they all waited for the controversial lovers to reemerge, Remus had answered a knock at his door to find Rainey there bearing two bottles and two glasses. “You looked as if you could use this,” she explained, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Remus started to object, but the unopened Firewhisky she carried did look tempting. He swallowed his irritation at her bad manners and closed the door behind her.

She handed him the whisky to pour for himself before pulling the cork on the flask of dark, thick red liquid she’d brought for her. She considered her glass, shrugged, then tossed it in his wastepaper basket before drinking deeply directly from the bottle. Remus sighed, making a note to remove it later as he filled his own.

“Chafes doesn’t it?” Rainey said, watching him intently as he took a long draw of spicy liquor.

“I’m used to it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the whisky,” she clarified, though neither had misunderstood the other.

“As I said,” he replied after a brief stare, dropping heavily into the chair at the writing desk. Despite his usual penchant for politesse, he didn’t offer Rainey a seat, which she noted with a smirk before turning to examine the drawings hanging on his wall.

“You aren’t, you know. One never gets used to it,” she said plainly before baring her fangs in imitation of the sketch of a snarling badger she was studying. “One simply seeks to convince oneself they aren’t bothered, though they always are. I suppose next, you’re going to try to tell me you simply never imagine what they’re doing behind that door. Never ponder which positions they prefer, or if he touches him in the same way you would. That you never wonder if he ever compares your kiss to his new lover’s.”

“He was never my lover,” Remus pointed out testily, throwing back the last of his drink and pouring another.

“Oh, of course, he was. Just not in the physical sense.”

“He is my ward,” Remus sighed. “I was friends with his father.”

“Which makes you just a teensy bit the dirty old lecher, now doesn’t it?” she teased, fondling a piece of quartz on his shelf but quickly losing interest.

“Here’s an intriguing fellow,” she observed before he could respond to the comment, sauntering over to cock her head at Kreacher. By the time she came to a stop, she was practically standing between Remus’ knees as he was sitting at the desk the House Elf hung over; though if she noticed his discomfort at her proximity, she gave no indication of caring.

“Now, I know there’s an interesting story behind this,” she prompted.

“I’m not quite sure I’d describe it as interesting,” Remus muttered. He’d have stood to give her room to examine the thing, but she was close enough that he couldn’t leave his seat without toppling one of them, so he merely leaned back away from her. She looked down at him, studying Remus just as keenly as the Elf a moment before, her eyes sparkling with some twisted, dark delight.

“I know a wolf attack when I see one. I wouldn’t have pegged you as one to keep trophies, though. I used to,” she shrugged, looking back up at Kreacher approvingly. “Ears mostly. I had a charm that prevented them from reverting after they were cut off. I liked the fur,” she explained absently, taking another drink from her bottle.

Remus glared at her, imagining her garlanded with wolves' ears. It was audacious in the extreme to explain to a werewolf how one used to decorate themselves with the body parts of others of their kind. But then, unlike the woman before him and the monsters she’d fought, Remus had never been feral. He wasn’t certain he resembled her former enemies enough to even call them kin, and so he was unsure how much offence he could claim at their butchering. It was disgusting on its face, but then, from what Remus understood, it had happened very far away from what could reasonably be considered civilisation, so who was he to judge her? He’d heard whispers of Rainey’s past, but it was one of those things never discussed because then it would have to be considered and possibly addressed, and they needed her skill in battle. He still wondered that Albus allowed her to teach. Though, who better than a warrior to train soldiers?

Remus realised he’d ceased using his glass several swigs ago, and he was well on his way to being drunk. Rainey hadn’t budged. It irked, but that annoyance simply homogenised with the general sense of irritation he felt. He was discontent, but more so with the situation than the woman who’d brought him the medicine to soothe it. The scent of her infection stirred something wild in him, though. Something almost aggressive. He’d become adept at ignoring such things in the years he’d been interacting with both her and Severus. But she was exceptionally close to him at the moment, and he wasn’t completely immune. He imagined facing down her mad grin in some deep forest in another part of the world, knowing that if he fell to her blades, it would be his own ear that dangled from her belt.

His lip practically lifted in a snarl. There was a kind of thrill at the thought. He’d seen the joy of combat in her several times. It often seemed as though she missed such clashes. Remus the Mild-Mannered Wizard was too far removed from that instinct to feel it in the battles they’d waged against the Death Eaters thus far. It was Remus the Werewolf that shivered now while considering engaging an ancient enemy. Her blood and his bones had far more history together than the bodies that bore them.

Her hand hung at her side, not all that far from his face, and he wondered how much wereblood it had spilled. Her fingers were so delicate. It seemed they were shaped too lovely to be guilty of such ugly deeds. It was an intriguing contrast, and he only just resisted the strange impulse to reach out and catch her fingers with his to examine the fine contours of them. He couldn’t help noticing other things conveniently at eye level were shaped rather exquisitely, as well. How strange that the urges of the flesh could all feel so similar. Sex, violence. How different were they really?

He’d been alone for far too long, he thought with a shake of his head. He must be getting desperate, ogling a woman. A vampire. And _this_ one, at that. He should stop drinking.

He took another draw from his bottle.

“Why are you here, Rainey?” he asked quietly but with a scowl.

“Why did you let me in?” she asked just as quietly, still not looking at him.

“I didn’t.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a sly smile, and it was clear that she hadn’t been paying Kreacher any real attention for some time.

“You and I are alike,” she whispered confidently. “I wasn’t sure how much before, but it seems to me now to be more than I had supposed.” She turned and looked down at him almost fondly. “Is it wrong to want to comfort the hurt we see in others that we feel in ourselves?”

They stared at one another for a long while. It might have been the Firewhisky, but Remus thought he detected a hint of challenge in her expression, though it was so hard to tell these things with Rainey. He’d never before considered that he shared any similarity to speak of with the wiry bloodsucking Witch, but he understood her point. He’d seen her covetous expression as she watched Severus, had marked her well-weathered envy when she saw him and Harry together which Remus knew mirrored his own.

Remus gave in to the urge to reach up and touch her hand then, a light and tentative gesture that she returned for a moment, toying with the tips of his fingers with hers. But when Remus moved to make the contact more substantial, she drew away with a graceful, unhurried step toward the bed. Remus regarded her warily, unsure if he was meant to follow. She read his question in the faint frown of his brow, but after a long moment’s consideration, she sighed.

“It isn’t as if it hasn’t occurred to me, and if I thought I could withstand the stink of dog from between my thighs after, I might consider it more seriously. Pity,” Rainey shrugged, taking a seat on the mattress across from Remus and resting her elbows on her knees to look him over. “You’re surprisingly attractive for a mongrel.” She took a long drink from her bottle of blood.

Remus sneered and shook his head. He didn’t understand the purpose of the test she’d just administered. He had no idea if he’d passed or failed. He took another drink and decided he didn’t care. She wasn’t as handsome as she seemed to consider him, and he wasn’t feeling lonesome enough to grumble.

“So why _are_ you here, then?”

“The Mudblood is tedious and that morphing bitch grates on my nerves,” she muttered, falling back to lay on his bed, her almost empty bottle dangling dangerously from her fingers over the side. “They’re both entirely too young to be tolerable.”

“I’ll thank you not to use those terms in my presence,” he warned, but it was more weary than stern. He realised she did so out habit now rather than animosity. It didn’t excuse it, but then she did also bring him whisky. She grunted an acknowledgement.

“I have a feeling we’ll be released from our torment soon, Lupin,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows to give him a commiserating look. “Once they’re done saying their goodbyes upstairs, we shall finally get to hear what Severus has come to report. One way or another, I don’t think we’ll have to watch them not be with us for much longer.”

“You don’t know that they’re saying goodbye,” Remus objected, upset by the insinuation. They all lived daily with the possibility that they would not see tomorrow. And Severus always flew to Harry when he arrived, though he didn’t usually disappear with him.

“Yes, I do. And I think you do, too. What I think actually bothers you is how much you hope yours will be the one left standing so you can help him weather the loss after. And that part of you would rather you fell yourself to save you seeing them together should they both survive. But there’s no way we _all_ make it through this, Ducky. And there’s hope in that thought. Else, how would we all make it through this, hm? Either through redemption or oblivion, one of us, at least, will get what they want, I have no doubt. But if the truth offends you, think what you will," she shrugged, flopping back down.

“I think,” he said with a shake of his head as he rose and walked on unsteady legs over to the bed to look down at the witch, “that you are mad, Cobs.”

She gave a short cackle and cracked a slow Cheshire grin. “We’re all mad here.”

Remus realised he’d been standing in the hallway outside Harry’s bedroom lost in the memory for some time. Long enough for the water still standing there to have made his bare toes frigid. He needed to get back to Severus, but seeing their clothes littering the floor was disconcerting. It didn’t seem possible that this was still the same night they’d all left them there. It seemed years had passed since the three of them lay tangled in these sheets.

Remus shivered. It had taken so long and so much for them to find themselves there. And now Harry was gone. He hadn’t really allowed himself time to let that knowledge sink in, but it did so now. Harry was gone, and they didn’t yet know where he was or if they could get him back.

Remus’ hands shook as he reached for the jar of healing salve on Harry’s nightstand. He was still bleeding steadily but not profusely. He rummaged through the robe at his feet to retrieve Severus’ wand, scouring himself before hastily slathering the balm on the worst of his scrapes. Then he pocketed the wand and made his way back downstairs, back through the floo, anxious to see if Severus had gained any more insight into whether they were all facing redemption or oblivion.


	22. Here Lurks No Treason, Here No Envy Swells

**Before: Severus**

The Potions Master spent most of his Saturday in the lab, bottling various potions and starting the processes over again, but he retired to his office that evening to wait for Harry to arrive for detention. Though all of his grading was caught up, some of his N.E.W.T. students appreciated being kept abreast of their standing, and Severus passed the time figuring averages to hand out on Monday. The work didn’t require any particular concentration, and Severus found his mind wandering, as it tended to do annoyingly often lately, back to the Boy Who Lived.

The young man’s most recent detention had been promising. Harry had set a moderate pace and finished his chore before the time allotted for his punishment had expired. Pleased, Severus had let him go rather than find him more cauldrons. It had been encouraging, but Severus noted he still was not working in the way he was intended. His focus had still been inward, his thoughts had merely been calmer. If his work remained balanced, however, Severus would consider broaching the subject of focus and intention. And then if all went well, his detentions could be reduced and relabeled to twice-weekly Occlumency. Not any time too soon, however. He had broken Draco’s nose, after all.

Severus sighed. Draco was another matter entirely. Albus was convinced the boy could be rehabilitated. Severus wanted to believe it was true, but he was not so confident. And as the boy’s Head of House, he knew him better.

That particular duty had become blessedly less complicated recently, as Severus’ most worrisome students were now attending another school. Not that he didn’t still worry about them, but they were beyond his reach, as indeed they had always been, if he were honest. He was required to censor himself less, at least.

Draco alone was held over from the lot of Death Eater children. It served to make him less bold in his prejudices, but it did not cure him of them. That brand of misbehaviour simply required a certain amount of immediate cultural support, and the remaining members of Slytherin were more wholesome and fair-minded. As much as Severus hoped it would have a tempering influence, Draco was his father’s son. He also did not command the fear and show of respect he once did among his peers, and he was having years of previous bullying returned. Rather than learning empathy from his situation, Severus suspected it was merely making Draco more subtle and spiteful. Severus was trying to look out for the boy, but children always had a way of doing such things when and where they would not likely be caught, and he was only one man. At least Draco was too wrapped up in his own affairs to interfere with Harry’s.

The door to Severus’ office opened with no preceding knock and so could not be Potter reporting for his detention, though he was due any minute. Loraina looked more mischievous than usual as she pushed his door closed behind her with a nudge of her backside. Severus threw her a disgruntled look, realised he’d stopped working entirely in his reflection, and took up his quill again to appear busy in the hopes she would grow bored and wander off before Harry arrived. He still didn’t like the two of them to interact if it could be avoided. The young man was making progress, but Loraina was not yet safe with him.

She didn’t look inclined to leave, however, despite his exaggerated display of distraction; and her Cheshire grin was fitting, as she proceeded to saunter over to his desk and, like a great, spoiled cat, perch on the edge. He ignored her, but she was undeterred by his continued scribbling, and Severus barely saved his quill from being snapped as she lay down across his papers, preventing him from working and forcing his attention. He scowled at her, but she merely stretched her arms over her head and smiled up at him.

“Comfortable?” he sighed as he lay his quill to the side, lips pursed and eyebrow raised. Loraina stuck her tongue between her teeth, seemingly delighted at his apparent annoyance. She knew as well as he did that he was trying to resist the urge to reach out and scratch behind her ear.

“Surprisingly,” she purred with an adjusting squirm. Severus shook his head at her and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, not nearly as cross as he should be on hearing his grade book crackle beneath her. She clearly disapproved of his withdrawal but shrugged it off.

“Sev,” she whined. “I’m-”

“Do not tell me,” he interrupted, “that you are bored.”

“Not even if it’s true?” she pouted.

“Well, that’s hardly my fault or responsibility,” he countered with a lazy shrug. “Do you not have anything to grade? Do you even assign your students coursework?”

She scoffed. “If I assigned essays, I’d have to read them,” she sniffed.

“You _are_ a professor. It _is_ what we do,” he pointed out calmly. “What does your class consist of? Besides apparently traumatising your students?”

“I could ask you the same,” she returned with a curl of her lip.

“Touché,” he acknowledged with a small nod. Her tongue reappeared between her smiling teeth, and Severus smirked down at her, but his fondness was poorly concealed.

“I prefer more practical, in-class sorts of assignments,” she told him.

“Like Animus Secretum?”

“Like Animus Secretum,” she confirmed.

“You never did explain that, by the way,” he prompted.

She sighed and sat up, ignoring the crumpled parchment she’d recently made a bed of. Her legs dangled over the edge of Severus' deck, and she swung them like a precocious schoolgirl.

“It’s something I learned in Romania,” she shrugged.

“And you feel it’s appropriate to teach to school children?” he challenged mildly. Severus knew how harrowing her existence had been there, and that survival often meant the abandonment of more delicate scruples. It made him sad to know she’d had to live that way, but it also worried him that she was teaching the methods she’d learned there to her students. He had a feeling her sense of ethics was shaky at best.

“Everyone who _can_ should learn a bit of wandless magic.”

Severus unfolded his arms and sat forward. “You taught your students wandless magic?” he asked, tempted to be impressed. “In a week?”

She gave him a wily smile. “Little Harry taught them to conjure a Patronus,” she pointed out, feigning insult, “but you don’t think I could manage to teach them a little wandless spell?” Severus looked at her sceptically until she finally conceded.

“Of course they used their wands, Severus. I’m not a miracle worker,” she tutted. “But Animus Secretum is a marvellous first step.”

“Yes, but what is it?” he pressed.

“A way to connect with and materialise their inner power. One has to be acquainted with it in order to make friends enough that it comes when called, whether you have a wand or not. A healthy exercise, even if they never manage it. Self-knowledge is essential to reaching one’s potential. Honestly, though, I just wanted a peek inside of Harry. His potential is the only one which really matters. And Severus, he has marvellous potential,” she said breathlessly.

“Loraina, do you not realise how dangerous it is to ask the boy to look inward?” he scowled critically. She was tough and experienced, and she was smart, but he wasn’t confident he trusted her judgement in this. They weren’t in the forest. This battlefield was different. And the most important skirmishes were being waged within the mind of the boy in question. Did she know him well enough to care what impact her meddling might have? Did she see him as anything but a weapon? There was more at stake than winning this war.

“I was careful. Stayed out of sight. I remember what you told me,” she assured him. “And you’re preparing him, aren’t you? Giving him the tools he needs to protect himself?”

“I’m trying to,” he sighed, sitting back and absently worrying his lip with his fingers. He had already been concerned they weren’t making enough progress, and now Loraina may be forcing them to press even harder. “I’m expecting him, actually. He should be here by now,” he fretted.

“He’s been scarce today. Apparently, he’s still sulking about last night,” she informed him in an off-handed way, turning to toy with his inkwell.

Severus gave her a puzzled look. Harry had been so calm yesterday. What had happened that he should be sulking now? He waited for the woman to explain, but Loraina was not paying any attention to Severus’ expectant expression. She sniffed his ink, pulled a face, and returned it to its stand.

“Did you know he had an invisibility cloak?” she asked randomly, as if impressed by the fact. Severus grumbled.

“Only too well,” he muttered, wondering how the fact was pertinent.

“Even invisible, he’s easy enough to scent, though,” she shrugged. “He does have a distinctive aroma, doesn’t he?” she said, nose scrunched but smiling as if remembering the smell. “Wonderfully complex. So innocently sweet yet spiced with such poignant pain. But you’d know all about it,” she said as if envious. “Does his perfume still linger on your bedsheets?” She waggled her eyebrows at him, but he ignored her, feeling very uncomfortably that he was missing something important.

“How did you know he had an invisibility cloak?” he asked warily.

“I follow him around at night when I’m bored,” she admitted. “Which is every night, honestly.”

“What do you mean?” he scowled. “Where is he at night if not in Gryffindor Tower?”

“Oh, all over, really,” she shrugged.

“He just wanders about?” he asked, becoming increasingly alarmed.

“Well, he does have a regular destination,” she explained with a sly grin, “or rather, he did. But sometimes he takes the scenic route back to bed.”

Regular destinations after curfew were rarely a good thing, and her amusement at this one did not bode well. “Where does he go?” Severus asked uneasily.

“To play with his pet werewolf, of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

“He goes to Lupin’s private quarters?” Severus demanded, his unease turning to suspicious anger. “After curfew? Every night?”

“Practically.”

Severus’ scowl deepened. “What in bloody hell for?” he snarled.

“He usually smells of tea after,” she told him, unconcerned. Then she narrowed her eyes teasingly. “But why this affront, my love? One might think you were jealous.”

Severus sputtered. “Just because I’ve been made aware of highly inappropriate behaviour in one of my students does not mean I am jealous,” he argued with a confusing amount of vehemence. “Why Albus allows him that bloody cloak is beyond me. He’s proved several times over he’s not responsible enough to use it properly.”

“Well, he seems to have realised that, as he’s taken it away,” she explained, fiddling with more of the items on his desk.

Severus was shocked. “Taken it away? How do you know this?”

“I watched it. I suppose it’s to do with all the commotion last night. Which is why I’m bored,” she explained. “Or I suspect I will be from now on. I’ll need something else to fill my time if Little Harry starts sitting home now that the wolf’s gone.”

“What? _Gone?_ ” Severus blurted, almost rising to his feet. He’d just bottled the mongrel’s Wolfbane. What did she mean he was gone? “Loraina,” he said tersely, “stop playing games and tell me what the hell happened.”

She paused just long enough to tempt another outburst from him but smiled before he could lose his patience entirely and began her tale.

“Well, I can’t claim to understand it entirely,” she shrugged. “Harry crept off for tea later than usual last night. And then after just a few minutes he comes running back out of Lupin’s rooms, exceptionally upset. Collapsed right in the hallway, bawling all invisibly. _Smelled_ a bit different after, too,” she said, giving Severus a meaningful look. “Not very, but subtly. Then before you know it, Fido goes tearing off to the Headmaster. Harry chased after, of course. Not that the wolf was aware, I don’t think. They weren’t there long,” she continued, leaning back on the desktop and resting on her elbows. “And then there were weeping and loud accusations before the werewolf slunk back to his quarters with his tail between his legs. Dumbledore walked Harry to Gryffindor after that. Took his cloak at the Portrait Hole. I must say, the boy was a bit...lightly dressed for the weather,” she said with a quirk of her brow. “Perhaps that was why Lupin lent him that ratty sweater of his.”

She seemed relaxed but watched him closely after, waiting for his response. Severus could not immediately give one. He did not understand why she insisted on being coy about it, as if she didn’t know perfectly well what the chain of events implied. Severus could only scowl for the longest time. It’s depth, however, increased with reflection.

How long had this been going on? Should Severus have noticed a change in the perfume of the boy’s blood? Of course, the mongrel was a poof, but Severus hadn’t suspected him a paedophile. Severus might not like the bastard, but he at least thought more of him than that. It still didn’t make sense, though. Lupin practically worshipped the boy, knew how important his virginity was to his safety. What’s more, he knew how the spell worked. _All_ sexual contact was off limits, not just intercourse. Severus would have to smell the boy himself, but if Loraina’s insinuations were correct, there _had_ been some sort of contact.

 _The bloody pervert!_ Severus saw red, bolted to his feet.

“Going somewhere, my love?” Loraina asked innocently. He threw her a dirty look. She was mentally and morally unsound, and he tired of her games. He swept from behind his desk and out his door.

“Why wasn’t I told?” Severus demanded of the Headmaster immediately on letting himself inside the man’s office without knocking. Albus stood behind his desk and was startled by Severus’ sudden arrival, but he did not seem particularly surprised to see him and did not ask what Severus was referring to or how he knew. “How bad is the damage?” Severus added, making his way closer.

“It isn’t good,” Albus replied, taking a heavy seat. He seemed soul-weary and disappointed. A silvery cloak lay in a pile on top of his desk.

“Did you know he was sneaking off to Lupin’s quarters at night?” Severus asked archly, giving the offending article of clothing a disgusted, sideways glance. The man did not reply, but the way he sighed and looked away from the fuming Potions Master hinted that he had.

“And you didn’t think some ill might come of late-night trysts with a known deviant?” Severus spat, scowling critically.

The Headmaster’s gaze snapped back to his guest, and there was a warning in it. “Severus. You will never express that sentiment in my presence again. Is that understood?”

“You’re offended by my _sentiment_ when Lupin endangered _the future of Mankind?_ ” Severus shouted, veritably frothing at the mouth. The Headmaster returned his glare.

“I don’t know how much you think you know, Severus, but I would have expected you, of all people, to take more care that your understanding was complete before throwing condemnations,” he said, his voice rising steadily. “It is an upsetting situation, but the outcome could have been much direr if not for the moral fortitude of the man you’ve apparently come here to slander.”

“Moral fortitude?” Severus sneered incredulously. “What morality is there in molesting children?”

“ _Severus_ ,” Albus thundered in warning, rising to his feet. It silenced the Potions Master, but it did not cow him. They both took a moment to rein in their tempers.

“Though he is far too young to engage in such activities with a man of Remus’ age, Harry is no longer a child,” Albus continued more calmly. “Which is precisely why the spell no longer protects him. And Remus did not molest him,” he added peevishly.

“And so what exactly transpired that you had to escort a nothing-but-cardigan-clad teenager back to his dorm room last night?” Severus challenged. “Did you search his godfather’s bedroom for the rest of the boy’s clothing before you showed the criminal off the grounds?”

“Severus, sit down,” Albus demanded, all patience with the man spent, “and listen, for Merlin’s Sake. It was not Remus’ doing,” he explained, suddenly uncomfortable. “It was Harry’s.”

Severus blinked at the man, not really absorbing what was being said; but the surprise did send him plopping almost involuntarily into the chair next to him. Albus sighed wearily and retook his own seat.

“My understanding of the matter is that he arrived at Remus’ quarters in _less_ than a cardigan but, despite Harry’s determined insistence, was successfully turned away. I shall know the details shortly,” he added, pulling a phial from his pocket and setting it on his desk. It was small and contained the liquid shimmer of a memory. Severus’ anger cooled considerably upon seeing it. If Lupin was willing to allow the Headmaster to view it, it could not be particularly damning.

“Remus was absolutely devastated by what occurred,” he advised Severus. “He volunteered to return to Grimmauld Place, I did not drive him off. I actually fear Harry may be worse without him, despite what happened.” Albus read Severus’ confusion and elaborated. “Harry had been dispirited and restless, and rather than have him spend his nights wandering about the Castle growing more isolated and despondent, Remus had been occupying Harry’s sleepless hours with tea and sympathy. The development of romantic feelings in the young man was completely unexpected. Though, Remus is in a complicated and painful place himself since Sirius’ passing and admits to developing his own unacceptable attachments, which is why he has removed himself. It is…messy,” the Headmaster conceded. “But it is not the worst thing that might have happened.”

They brooded silently for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Severus was still angry, though he wasn’t sure why. It seemed an unexpected but acceptable explanation, and Severus no longer felt like castrating the bastard. Indeed, how many could honestly claim to have the willpower to resist the earnest advances of a half-naked and exceedingly attractive young person? It wasn’t Lupin he was annoyed with now. That Harry was being allowed to mire himself in self-pity over the rejection, however, was not acceptable.

It was just what they needed, he thought sardonically: More turmoil in the boy. As if Occlumency wasn’t difficult enough with what he’d had already. Black falling through the veil, his cousin’s accident and the loss of his pet owl, Weasley being kissed, Granger and the boy not speaking, and now this. At this rate, the young man would never master the skills needed, would never repel the Dark Lord from his mind, would continue to stumble through his days in increasing pain and belligerence.

Well, not if Severus could help it. He rose abruptly to his feet.

“Severus,” Albus called wearily after him, “where are you going?”

“To clean up this _bloody_ mess,” Severus hissed over his shoulder. “Per fucking usual,” he muttered to himself, slamming the Headmaster’s door behind him.


	23. A Charm to Calm These Fits

**Before: Severus**

Severus was clearly on the warpath as he strode stormily toward Gryffindor Tower, and students scrambled from his path and scattered in his wake. Neville Longbottom loitered in the corridor outside the Portrait Hole and, on catching sight of the Potions Master at the end of the hall, moving swiftly in his direction, the boy seemed to panic and begin looking for a place to hide.

“Longbottom!” Severus snapped before he could escape. “Where is Potter?”

“In bed,” the boy stammered, backing away. “He’s been there all day.”

“Get him up!” Severus commanded.

Longbottom nodded quickly and turned to scramble ahead of the professor. Severus followed him behind the Portrait without breaking stride. The boy was much quicker than one might imagine, and he was whispering hurriedly to a closed set of bed hangings when Severus caught up with him in one of the topmost dorm rooms.

Clearly, he was having no luck rousing his roommate, so Severus moved him aside and yanked Harry’s curtains open himself. The young man scrambled upright in bed, plainly having been asleep. He also had obviously been crying at some point recently. Harry's mouth worked, striving to voice his indignation, but no words would come out. Severus glared, taking in the state of him. It seemed he had not left his bed since Albus escorted him here the night before. He was still practically naked save for what was apparently Lupin’s cardigan, which he was attempting to use to cover as much of himself as the mousy-brown knit garment would allow.

“Longbottom. Out,” Severus commanded, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. The other boy’s frantic footsteps could be heard receding down the stairs.

“Did you assume, because you were feeling sulky today, that it was somehow okay for you to skip your detention this evening, Mr. Potter?” he asked coolly when they were alone. Comprehension dawned slowly on the young man’s face, but then Harry pouted outright. It seemed he’d merely forgotten, but it was no excuse.

“Have you so thoroughly steeped in your self-pity that it has yet to drain from your ears? Or has it turned what little brains you have to maudlin soup? My meaning was that you should get the hell out of bed,” Severus growled. He strode to Harry's trunk and grabbed the first things his hands fell on, throwing them at the young man. “And for gods' sake, put on some bloody clothes, Potter.”

Then he returned to where Harry was huddled and unceremoniously stripped the cardigan from his back. He sneered at Harry's resulting cry of anguish but was not completely heartless, and he tossed the thing back onto the mattress once Harry was free of it.

The young man squirmed self-consciously as if acutely aware of his nakedness, and Severus wondered for a moment why he was being so shy - as if there was anything exposed that Severus hadn’t already seen before - until he remembered that Harry’s exhibitionism had been accidental and Severus’ voyeurism not yet known. Severus’ cheeks coloured, but he instantly suppressed the memory and glared demandingly at Harry, refusing to be affected like last time. Why in hell wasn’t he getting dressed? As much as he apparently was bothered by being naked in front of the man, Harry was merely staring at the items Severus had provided him as if pained.

The Potions Master hadn’t even really looked at what he’d pulled out, and doing so now, he suddenly understood Harry’s hesitancy. They weren’t attending a fashion show, however.

“Clothes, Potter. Now,” Severus ordered. Harry didn't argue. Though, as he reluctantly climbed into his clothes, he almost began crying again, making Severus uncomfortable.

Severus wasn’t about to give into pity, nevertheless. He suspected that many of their problems could be avoided if they’d just stop handling the boy so delicately. Harry required callouses, not cuddles.

“Shoes,” Severus demanded once he was dressed. Harry stuffed his feet into his trainers without socks and, before his second foot was even properly in, Severus gave him a small shove in the direction of the door. “Dungeons.”

He directed the young man on ahead of him, nudging him when he seemed to slow before he realised the reason for it. Severus’ arrival had apparently inspired a crowd to form in the Common Room. He hadn’t meant to publically humiliate the boy, merely to get him up and out the door without the chance for argument. Rather than allow himself to feel bad about it, Severus let his threatening guilt fuel his annoyance.

He led Harry out of the Tower and down the corridors so quickly the young man had to jog to keep up. In truth, he was trying to pull ahead so he would not have to see the humiliation on Harry’s face and be tempted to apologise, but the young man stubbornly kept pace at his side, growing angrier the harder he had to work to do so.

“That wasn't necessary, you know,” Harry spat sniffily at him after a while. “I'd forgotten, is all! Why do you always have to be so-”

“So what, Harry?” Severus clipped, turning sharply into his offices and shutting the door once Harry had followed him through.

Harry pulled a face as if it was taking an enormous amount of willpower not to tell the man exactly what he was thinking. But a purge of the young man’s thoughts might actually be a good idea. They’d had at each other at Grimmauld Place, and the resulting calm had vastly improved Harry’s performance. If he wanted to curse at the Potions Master, he should get it out of his system so he wouldn’t stew, distracting him from their exercise.

“Go on. Tell me how I am,” Severus challenged calmly. Harry merely ground his teeth and stared at the floor, and Severus heaved a sigh.

“Harry, what have you been doing here these past three days?”

“Serving detention, Sir,” Harry answered tightly. The boy was merely saying whatever he thought Severus wanted to hear.

“No,” he scowled. “What have you been _doing?_ ”

Harry shifted his weight wearily and blasted out a sigh, rubbing his scowling forehead. He seemed at a loss and fed up with not only Severus but also with being awake in general.

“Scrubbing cauldrons!” he said.

Now it was Severus' turn to be exasperated. “Yes, but _while_ you scrubbed cauldrons, What. Were. You. Doing?”

Harry stammered, staring at Severus in confusion. He started to speak then thought better of it and snapped his mouth closed again. Severus could see the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but he’d second-guessed himself. Harry shrugged and shook his head.

“I was _thinking?_ ” he offered finally.

“Exactly, Potter,” Severus replied stiffly. “Which means you were doing things incorrectly.”

Severus turned his back on Harry and strode to the hearth, tossing a handful of floo powder into it. “Severus Snape’s private quarters,” he intoned, looking expectantly at Harry who merely stood there, lost.

“Sometime today, Potter,” Severus said, gesturing tersely toward the floo. Harry shook off his confusion and scrambled forward and through the fireplace. Severus stepped from his hearth just behind him and noticed Harry staring, wistful and dejected, through Severus’ open bedroom door; and despite himself, Severus felt a pang of sympathy.

He’d been where the boy was now. For vastly different reasons, granted; but he well knew the impulse to sleep through one’s troubles, to forget they existed and consign oneself to oblivion. Sometimes consciousness seemed too heavy a weight to bear. Severus knew what it was to be weary of waking.

Harry seemed bashful realising he'd been caught staring at his recent, temporary sanctuary, and Severus softened his scowl.

“This way, Harry,” he said, with much less irritation than a moment before, and stepped toward the lab.

Severus hadn’t really thought through his decision to bring the boy here. He’d just been possessed of the need to _do_ something, and now he was a little reluctant to invite an outsider into his own sanctuary. Harry was in need of it, though. Not that he’d likely appreciate the comfort it provided, but the destination had been instinctual. Besides, Severus would need its calming effect himself if he was to effectively communicate with the young man. He walked over to the laboratory door and waved his wand, resulting in a series of clicks and rattles on the other side.

Severus was a little surprised, and bit gratified, to find Harry seemed to understand the import of his being allowed into this space. He descended the stair with Harry following hesitantly. Severus waved his wand again when they cleared the stair, and a series of torches along the walls flared to life, reflecting satisfyingly off a multitude of glittering surfaces.

Harry seemed almost awed, and Severus was unexpectedly moved by the way the young man was suddenly captivated by all the many intricate details of the room. He allowed Harry to explore within reason; to wander through the space, turning as he went to try and take it all in. He seemed a bit overwhelmed and turned to consider Severus with a curious expression.

“If you're quite done sightseeing, we are here for a purpose, Harry,” Severus said dryly, though was secretly pleased.

Harry seemed to ignore the comment. “What's that?” he asked impulsively, bending with unusually keen interest to examine the Hellebore distillation system. He appeared almost delighted following the syrup’s progression through it.

“That is not why we are here,” Severus replied. Perhaps he’d take the time to satisfy the boy’s curiosity some other night. Right now, however, Severus had a lesson to impart. Harry sighed and pulled his attention away from the purple product dripping from the contraption and into a flask on the table with evident reluctance. For a moment, Severus was concerned he’d ask to taste it, he looked at it so longingly.

“You are too easily distracted,” Severus pointed out. “That, however, _is_ one of the reasons we are here. Sink, Harry,” he directed calmly, gesturing to it.

Harry was demonstratively disappointed on realising he would still be expected to scrub things. He trudged over and waited as Severus extricated a large tub of dirty, residue-caked equipment from beneath one of his workbenches and set it next to the sink. Harry reached resignedly for the cleaning tools; but this time, Severus pushed back his sleeves and joined him, taking up a sponge of his own. Since Harry held the bottle-brush, Severus handed him something appropriate to clean with it. Then he selected a dirty item as well, working side-by-side with Harry for a while without speaking.

As always, the work was soothing. Severus ignored Harry’s curious, sidelong glances. He meticulously de-gunked one beaker and then another as Harry watched, distractedly swiping at his own to little real effect.

“Do you know why I like potions, Harry?” Severus asked.

Harry had been so focused on puzzling at the man, he seemed startled when he spoke and almost dropped the phial he was cleaning. Severus' did not let the commotion touch him, never looked up from his task.

“They require attention,” he explained to the boy. “Some require even constant attention. So much so that one does not have the luxury of extraneous thoughts. Can you imagine why this appeals to me?”

Harry did not respond, but he seemed to consider what Severus had just said, continuing to scrub as he did so, not noticing that his phial was already clean.

“You see, this is exactly your problem,” Severus said with a sigh, taking it carefully from the young man’s hand and replacing it with another dirty one. He finally stopped his own cleaning and turned to Harry. The boy appeared apprehensive but also surprisingly open. Severus was not sure how much sense what he was about to say would make to the young man, but he figured all he could do was try, and if it did not penetrate, he’d change tact.

“There are essentially two kinds of meditation, Harry. Directive and non-directive. There is the kind where one focuses inwardly and the kind where one focuses outwardly,” he explained. Harry looked at him as if he were an alien, but Severus ignored it and pressed on. “What you seem to have been doing, even accidentally, is the wrong kind. You've focused your physical self on an action or object, allowing your mind to wander. But this is dangerous,” he warned gently. “While your attention is elsewhere, you're inadvertently making room for the Dark Lord.” Severus went back to scrubbing as if to demonstrate its calming effect. “What we want to cultivate is the opposite. It is a Zen concept called mindfulness in which you do one thing, focusing all your attention on it.” He paused to let the boy consider the idea.

“Harry, what question have I asked you each night before releasing you?”

“Uh...You asked me if it felt like punishment,” he stammered, processing still, but Severus could tell he was coming around.

“And each night you answered that, yes, it had felt like punishment. But what I was trying to offer you, Harry, was an opportunity. Sometimes, the nature of a thing is dependent on how we perceive it.”

Harry stared at Severus sceptically, phial and brush forgotten.

“Don't look at me like that,” Severus sighed, still not looking at Harry, his scowl and some of his irritation returning despite his exercise. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be open-minded.” Severus set aside his now-clean flask and turned to him again.

“Try this, Harry,” he said seriously, “Trust me."

He gave Harry a long, pensive look. He knew it was a big request. Severus could not undo their past, but he needed to find a way to make Harry understand that, despite it, he was here to help the young man; that he understood Harry’s struggle and could show him how to fight this particular battle.

"You let your emotions rule you,” he observed. “You let circumstance rob you. You live solely in the past and the future. And while that is sometimes necessary,” he conceded, “while the past often deserves the respect of acknowledgement and the future requires forethought and preparation; if you can learn to be _here_ , in the present moment, you might not only quiet your demons but also protect yourself from unwanted intrusion. When you are completely present within yourself, there is no room for the Dark Lord to enter.”

Severus watched as comprehension lit the young man’s features.

“Occlumency,” Harry said wonderingly. “This...this hasn't been detention. This has been Occlumency.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough to it. Severus gave him a wry smile and withdrew to his desk to work on calculations for a variation on the Substisanguinus formula, leaving Harry to see to the rest of the tub by himself.

He watched Harry work from the corner of his eye, however. The young man struggled at first, predictably. Though it was a simple concept, it was not an easy process. But Harry seemed to be applying himself to it in earnest. In fact, despite the difficult start, when it finally clicked, he lapsed into it so smoothly that Severus rather felt bad that he’d assumed Harry incapable of it. Severus wasn’t sure if recent events had made the boy more receptive, but the Potions Master suspected he’d merely underestimated the young man. Before he knew it, Harry had cleaned the entire contents of the tub, stepping back to regard the results with satisfaction.

“So, Harry,” Severus said, head still bent to his work. “Did this feel like punishment?”

“No, Professor,” he replied with no hesitation, as if the response surprised him.

Severus lay down his quill and regarded him. The young man standing at Severus’ sink was not the same one who had trudged reluctantly to it an hour before. Harry was relaxed and centred, visibly more in possession of himself. Severus was inordinately pleased by the sight. If he were anything like the Potions Master, the effect would not last particularly long, but it was always a comfort to know a reprieve was possible, however fleeting.

“Good,” Severus replied, rising from his desk. Then he escorted a far more docile Harry to the hearth and, from there, sent him directly back to Gryffindor Tower.

Somehow, he was almost sad to see the boy go. Severus had never entertained visitors in his lab before. This was his haven, was where he sought solitude. He’d noted, however, as he had worked on his formulas, that the young man’s presence hadn’t really intruded on that sense. And strangely, now that he had gone, the place seemed empty, though it never had before. Severus often felt alone but never lonely. Not for quite some time, at least. Severus disliked the feeling, disliked that the boy had provoked it. But he realized that the feeling wasn’t new, he’d merely stopped noticing it.

Severus was a bit disoriented as he made his way back down the stairs. He sat at his desk and resumed his study, but his work made no progress. He found himself glancing, far too often, to the sink; confused to notice he almost missed seeing Harry standing at it.

   


	24. Pass the Remainder of Our Hateful Days

**Between: Severus**

Severus ignored the nurse finally and pushed his way past her to enter Harry’s room. Let security come, damn it. He was beyond caring. He’d been arguing with the staff for almost half an hour now. Kingsley had ordered that no one be allowed in Harry’s room but specifically told the nurses that Severus was an exception. After he’d left the vampire to watch over Harry so he could see to official matters, however, the staff had turned on him. Once Harry had been stabilised, they claimed ignorance of Kingsley’s instructions and insisted that he had to have permission to enter from that mongrel adulterer for reasons Severus still couldn’t properly fathom. He might have expected it. Every British-born healer there who had started their career in the last two decades had been through Severus’ classroom, and most did not leave it on friendly terms with the Potions Master.

He knew he didn’t have much time. The nurse he’d been arguing with had given up trying to shout him out of the room and had called for help. He rushed to Harry’s bedside and grasped his hand. He didn’t know if the young man could hear him but, should he be listening, Severus couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him alone without letting him know that Severus wanted more than anything to be at his side.

“Harry. Listen to me, My Love. I'll be back for you,” Severus vowed. There was no visible response. “Don't leave me,” he begged, lifting the young man’s hand to his lips.

Severus paused, urgency making way for apprehension, and repeated the gesture. Harry’s skin was clammy, which didn’t seem right to the man, as Harry’s face was flushed.

Severus’ breath caught in his throat. These symptoms reminded him of something. But no. It couldn’t be…

He smoothed Harry’s sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. Despite the perspiration, Harry was cool to the touch. Not just cool; icy.

Dread gripped the vampire. There was commotion in the hall behind him, but Severus ignored it, lifting Harry’s eyelid.

“What’s the problem?” Severus heard a breathless Kingsley ask. He did not sound pleased. “Why was security called? Where is the agent I sent to guard this room?”

Harry’s pupils were dilated. They seemed to grow even larger as Severus observed them. The Potions Master suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry, Sir. No agents have arrived yet, there’s just this gentlemen. I’ve told him visitors weren’t allowed, but-”

“I gave specific permission for this man to be allowed at Mister Potter’s side.”

The nurse sounded uncomfortable when she replied, but Severus was too busy checking Harry’s pulse to focus on it. The monitors showed it to be quick, but it was weak for all its fevered beating.

“I understand that, Sir,” the nurse said, polite but forcibly so. “Be that as it may, hospital policy prevents us from admitting any non-familial visitors until the patient’s closest living relative has been notified and provides permission. Or in this case, his former guardian. Even then, visitation is permitted only if the patient’s condition allows. We’ve only just stabilised Mister Potter. We haven’t even had an opportunity to draw testing samples-”

“Alright,” said Kingsley, cutting off her spiel. “I understand. But call off security, for Merlin’s sake. I’ll handle this.”

Severus panicked. _They could not draw samples. T_ hey’d done well to treat Harry’s symptoms, but they must never know their cause. He may be wrong. Gods, he prayed he was wrong. But in case he wasn’t…

“Severus,” Kingsley said apologetically, laying a hand on his shoulder. Severus straightened and spun to face him.

“Kingsley, roll up your sleeve!” Severus demanded under his breath, glancing at the door. The nurse was too far away to hear, but she watched them with a disgruntled expression. Luckily, someone down the hall seemed to be speaking to her, and she reluctantly stepped away. “Quick! Before the harpy returns.”

“Severus, what are you-?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Severus, digging in his pocket.

“You carry phials with you?”

“I’m a bloody Potions Master. Of course, I fucking carry phials,” Severus snarled, frantically searching nearby drawers. He located a syringe and turned back to the man, brandishing it. “I need your blood.”

“This is no time for a snack, Sev-”

“Are you _trying_ to be dense?” Severus hissed, waving his wand at the door to nudge it shut. “They cannot test Harry’s blood. If the potion he ingested is what I suspect it is, there can be no evidence. Just… trust me,” he begged. It was not something he did often, and Kingsley seemed to comprehend the gravity of the request because of it.

“This will never work,” he muttered, nonetheless yanking back his sleeve.

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” said Severus, carefully puncturing one of the man’s veins and filling his syringe as quickly as he dared. He transferred his bounty to the phial and capped it just as the door swung back open. Severus cursed. He’d have liked to have taken a small amount of Harry’s, as well, to test in his lab.

“I really do have to ask you both to leave now,” the nurse insisted tersely. Kingsley discreetly lowered his sleeve as Severus diverted her attention from it by swishing past him to offer her the phial of his blood.

“Since no one could seem to be arsed,” Severus sneered, practically shoving it into her hand. She looked to see what she was suddenly holding and then turned a gaping scowl back up at him, clearly appalled.

“Did you just draw this patient’s blood?” she demanded disbelievingly.

“Oh, re-hinge your jaw, Miss Bradley,” Severus sniped. “You know I’m perfectly capable of safely collecting a blood sample. I seem to remember showing you how to extract blood from a bicorn for your end-of-term N.E.W.T. project.”

“We can’t use this,” she objected.

“And what? Are you going to draw a second sample so soon from a weak and critical patient? Really, Miss Bradley,” he tutted. For a moment, Severus thought she might slap him. She took a curt step toward him.

“That’s Ward Sister Bradley to you. This isn’t your classroom, you arrogant, miserable old bastard,” she hissed quietly, finally abandoning the careful professionalism she’d been struggling to maintain. “You don’t call the shots here, _I do_. This is my floor. This is my patient. Do you understand that, you _utter_ arsehole?”

Severus returned her glare. A string of exceptionally scathing insults crossed his mind, but by some miracle, he was able to keep them there. He gritted his teeth, drawing on every last scrap of patience he had left.

“Do you see how much blood is in that phial?” he asked quietly but angrily. “If you take more from him now, it could endanger him. He is weak. His pulse is too unstable.”

“Which is why we hadn’t drawn any yet,” she spat. “I should have you arrested for jeopardising this young man’s life. And considering who it is, I’m certain it wouldn’t be taken lightly.” Still, she looked back down at the phial, debating. Severus took a calming breath.

“Please, Karen,” he said, much more kindly than she’d likely ever heard him speak. She glanced back up at him, shocked and distrustful. “I have risked my life for this young man more times than I can count, and I’ve saved his more times over than anyone will ever know,” he told her with grasping sincerity. He could see her softening. “I would never do anything to harm him. Please. Just test the sample I’ve taken. And quickly. Time is of the essence.”

His pleading tone worked the same magic on her as it had on Kingsley. After another agonising moment, she sighed and nodded. She was acquiescing, but she was not happy about it.

“You still have to leave now,” she told him, her tone allowing for no further argument. Severus hadn’t intended to attempt one. He’d gotten what he wanted. He nodded immediately, looking back to Kingsley to request he join him as Karen tapped her foot impatiently. The three of them left Harry’s room together, to Severus’ immense relief.

They met the Auror assigned to Harry’s room as they were emerging, and Kingsley gave him a sound talking to. There had been some confusion with dispatch, the man said, and he’d been sent to the wrong room. Kingsley told the man to call in an additional agent to stand guard with him - and to make sure they had the right bloody room number - before stomping off, catching Severus by the arm as he did so to lead him to the waiting room they were going to use as a kind of base of operations until things settled.

Severus was too distracted with Harry’s prognosis to concern himself with procedural hiccups, though. He knew his ruse would not hold for long. When they found nothing, no hint of potion at all in Kingsley’s blood, they would eventually seek another sample. Hopefully, by that time, the serum would have metabolised but the infections not yet begun to manifest. If he could get Harry home quickly enough, they might yet manage to conceal his actual condition.

“We need to remove him from here,” Severus whispered to Kingsley as they strode down the crowded corridor.

“Have you lost your mind?” Kingsley hissed quietly, glancing about him as if afraid someone might have overheard the vampire.

“No. Make it happen.”

“Severus, you saw the state of him,” he admonished. “Harry may not even survive the night.”

Hearing it spoken aloud hit Severus like a fist to the gut, and his step faltered but only for a moment. He couldn’t afford to fall apart yet.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Kingsley told him sincerely, his voice wavering. “It pains me, too. But whatever you know or think you know, we have to consider Harry’s well-being.”

Severus did stop then. He stood in the busy walkway and stared open-mouthed at the man.

“Do you imagine I’m not?” he asked incredulously. “Do you imagine I’ve done anything but for years now?”

Kingsley stared at him with equal parts sympathy and resentment. Severus was putting him in a difficult spot. If he did as he was asked and things went badly, heads would roll, and Kingsley's first. At the same time, Harry was his friend, and he surely trusted Severus to do what was best for him.

“It will be up to Remus,” Kingsley finally grunted with a grudging nod, continuing on toward the waiting room.

“Why in hell is it up to him, again?” The idiotic rule still chafed.

“Protocol, Severus. It isn’t as if the two of you are married.”

“Tell your friends in the Ministry to make it legal for us to do so, and I’ll buy a goddamned ring,” Severus barked.

“The fact remains that Remus is the closest thing to family Harry functionally has. If it’s even possible to extract Harry, the decision will be his. And you’d better be convincing.”

“Me?” Severus baulked. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “No, you have to talk to him. He hates me more than usual at the moment,” Severus muttered acidly. The feeling was indeed mutual. He wondered how long ago Harry’s sleep-overs at Grimmauld Place had ceased to be about the convenience of its location. Just how many times had the bastard fucked Severus’ lover?

Kingsley groaned at the request. “What’s happened now?”

Severus declined to answer. “Tell him it’s not safe for him here,” he suggested. “That may very well be true. You saw how easily I got into his room. Who’s to say the bastards who did this won’t try to get to him here? He needs to be somewhere more secure.”

“You have a point,” Kingsley conceded. “Are you ever going to tell me what this is all about?” he muttered.

“Eventually.”

“Let’s just hope it’s not while I’m visiting you in Azkaban, eh? Ah, good. Remus is already here,” he pointed out.

Indeed, Severus could see the shabby mutt through the small window of the waiting room door. He appeared just as frantic and overwhelmed as Severus felt, though it did not endear him to the vampire. Why in gods’ name did he perpetually look homeless? It wasn’t as if he paid rent. Could he not afford a new goddamned cardigan? It looked as if he’d been living in this one since the last one was destroyed.

“I can’t go in there,” Severus told Kingsley, refusing to go any further.

“Is it really that bad between you?”

“It is. Besides, you know your co-workers don’t exactly think highly of me.” They weren’t too keen on Lupin, either, but at least he hadn’t been a Death Eater.

“Alright. I’ll talk to him, Severus, but I can’t make any promises. Go wait at Grimmauld Place and I’ll send word as soon as I know something.”

“Leave the hospital?” Severus asked, stricken. He was already further from Harry than he could bear.

“What are you going to do here, Severus?” Kingsley asked, but not unkindly. “After the stunt you pulled, they aren’t going to let you in to see him even if Remus gives his consent. You should feel lucky they aren’t screaming for your arrest. In fact, that might still come. Lay low at headquarters. You can Apparate here quickly enough if need be.”

Severus felt as if he were drowning. Of course, what Kingsley was saying made sense, but he was still half-tempted to bolt back to Harry’s room and magic the door shut. If the young man had ingested what Severus suspected, his hours might be numbered anyway. No one here would be able to help him. It would be worth it to Severus to be sent away to Azkaban if it meant he could spend Harry’s final moments by his side.

Kingsley seemed to see Severus’ desperation in his expression, might have been guessing at the mad schemes he was concocting, and he lay a hand on the man’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I know, Severus. But I’m not about to let you be locked away, not after all you’ve done. Harry wouldn’t wish it, either. I’ll do all I can, but we need you Secret-Kept. _He_ will need you free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea how hospitals work. (If it wasn't obvious.)


	25. Requite Thy Gentleness

**Now: Severus**

The vampire stumbled out of the Pensieve and practically into Remus’ arms. As the werewolf helped steady him, Severus noticed how pale he still was, how his face was sheened with a light sweat and not just with the ointment spread hastily on his scrapes, though he should have had plenty of time to collect himself from his fright before. Severus supposed it must be an effect of the accumulation of the night’s shocks. He was almost spent himself.

“My gods, Severus. Are you alright?” Remus asked, looking him over. Severus glanced down and realised he was almost as battered as his companion now. What little clothing he wore was torn though disconcertingly clean.

“I’m fine,” Severus told him distractedly, brushing off Remus’ concern as he absently sought to close his shirt, though he couldn’t seem to find any remaining buttons. It was an obvious lie. Even as he spoke it, Severus was reliving what he’d just seen in flashes of pain both physical and otherwise.

When he’d returned to the Pensieve, Severus was panicked to realise he couldn’t see Harry and Loraina any longer. But he’d smelled them, and the vampire in him had awakened almost instantly. Loraina was practically and purposefully odourless except for the nearly imperceptible high, metallic zing of her infection. He identified and disregarded it, reaching for the unique bouquet that was Harry, both friend and foe woven together in a confusing strand of scent he chased then single-mindedly and sure-footedly through the trees. A sea of hearts had twinkled before him, stationary except for the trail he followed where countless creatures stirred in Harry and Loraina’s wake, disturbed by their passage. He ignored them all, searching for the two larger hearts he knew streaked ahead of him.

But there had not been two. There had been three, and they moved almost as one in a sharply changing track through the forest. Severus managed to draw close enough to recognise the great stag only just as Harry leapt across its path and arrested its flight in a flash of teeth and a spray of blood. His grief at the sight brought Severus to his knees with a cry of dismay. He tumbled to the forest floor, tearing his skin and clothes, rolling to a stop beside the beast just as Harry sprang back to the fallen prince to clamp his muzzle over the pumping fount of his blood.

Severus was still shaken by the experience. He would never have thought Harry would fell the majestic creature, especially in such a way. In as low a regard as he held the young man’s father, Severus knew and respected the significance of the stag to Harry. He had seen the pride the young man felt whenever its likeness sprang, glowing, from his wand when he cast Expecto Patronum. Yet, there Severus had been, watching as the radiance of the Patronus’ living counterpart dimmed and shifted to fill the ravenous creature that was attached to its neck.

Severus noticed Remus’ anxious expression, and the vampire shook his head to banish the unwelcome memory.

“Hermione knew,” he informed Remus somberly.

“Knew?”

“Of Harry's plans to leave.”

Remus was shocked. “For how long?” he whispered, looking wounded by the young woman’s omission. Severus understood his sense of betrayal but also Hermione’s decision to keep the matter to herself. Besides, Remus was guilty of omissions of his own.

“Why did you not tell me he came home drenched in blood?” Severus asked instead of answering outright. The man would surely be able to place the night in question.

Remus’ face fell. It had to have been a difficult memory for him. Severus had had difficulty watching it: the man’s panic and confusion, Harry’s alarming state and refusal to respond. Severus had been frustrated on Remus’ behalf, had wanted to shake Harry and demand that he come to his senses. To Severus’ knowledge, Harry had never treated the other man so callously before. Remus was so unfailingly polite, even Severus struggled to be truly acerbic, and that was even before their recent mutual understanding when Severus still told himself he hated the man. But of course, the reasons for the young man’s behaviour toward them both were becoming increasingly evident.

“I should have told you,” Remus apologised quietly, “but you were already carrying so much, and I simply thought he was struggling to contain his new powers,” he said with a helpless gesture. “I never imagined all of this.”

“Why would you?” Severus whispered forgivingly. “It’s no matter. I’d have noticed it myself if I hadn’t been so busy sulking,” he sneered.

Severus had told himself he was respecting Harry’s boundaries, but he saw now the truth was that his feelings had been hurt. He’d practically hidden from the young man so that even if Harry had wanted to make amends, he'd have had no opportunity. Severus had merely made it easier for Harry to distance himself in preparation for flight.

“Hermione surmised that Harry was planning to leave after she heard your argument on the stair,” Severus explained, leaning back against Minerva’s bookshelves with a sigh. He was so very weary. “She encouraged him to talk to us, to let us assist, but he feared for our safety.” He shook his head.

“This is all my fault,” he said miserably.

Remus scowled and came to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

Severus gave Remus a sceptical look. Was it not obvious?

“I ripped him from his hospital bed. I went on and on at his bedside about his legacy as if it were sacro-fucking-sanct,” he spat with self-reproach, “and now he’s gone off to take the bastards on himself, so the Ministry cannot out him and tarnish his precious reputation.” Severus smirked at himself, though he felt closer to weeping. He could still hear Harry’s words to Hermione:

_We can’t leave it to the Ministry. If we do, then it will come out what I am. And as I’ve been told all my life, I am more than myself._

Severus was the one who’d reinforced that concept when he had prevailed on Remus to pull the young man from St. Mungo’s. Though, he couldn’t have known at the time that he would be contributing to this present debacle.

_Everything we fought for will be tarnished, Hermione. History will be less kind. That’s exactly what they wanted. To derail the narrative, to sully my ‘legend’. And while I couldn’t give less of a damn, I’m not giving them what they want, Hermione. I am not letting them win._

It made Severus feel better somehow that Harry seemed to have given the matter thought himself and was not swayed solely by Loraina’s machinations. If he was not merely her puppet, there was the chance he’d eventually become disillusioned and return to them. But they still did not fully understand the situation they all found themselves in, had no idea where Harry might have gone, or even that he was with Loraina. They had no choice at the moment but to continue following Harry’s breadcrumbs.

“Why did I not foresee this?” Severus winced, wilting further under the weight of his failure. “He was always so critical of himself that he did not end the war sooner. As if there had even been that possibility. He considered every casualty to be blood on his hands. Of course, he wouldn’t allow any of us to be put in harm’s way this time.”

Whenever one of the Order had fallen, Harry had teetered on a precipice, threatening to descend into a spiral of guilt and anger. Severus was convinced each time that the only reason he didn’t seek oblivion was that he knew he had a task to perform first. He’d always seemed to just be waiting for the day he could be allowed to die. Severus, never one for heart-to-hearts, uncomfortable with pretty words and empty placations, had soothed the young man in the only way he could think to, the only way he knew how.

He had taught Harry how to truly submit; how to lay everything he was, including his struggles, at Severus’ feet; how to surrender control of all things, even his free will, to Severus’ keeping. When Harry had been at his worst, Severus would command him to empty himself of every thought and impulse beyond obedience, to focus on nothing but Severus’ voice and his hands and the sensations the man evoked with them. And then Severus would string the young man taut and play him like an instrument until there was nothing left of him but the music of his moans.

“He thinks he’s strong enough now to act alone,” Severus said, feeling the panic rise in him, the dread. No matter how formidable Harry was, he was new. He was inexperienced. For all his might, he could so easily be undone by his impatience and his imprudence. Loraina was little better. She was clever, but they were both rash beings, and together they were dangerous, especially to themselves.

Severus felt fingertips on his face and flinched, but he saw that Remus held the jar of healing salve and was merely attempting to apply it to the cut across Severus’ cheek. Or else, he was using that as an excuse, knowing Severus would not welcome the blatant show of affection. The pretence suited the Potions Master well enough, and he allowed Remus to doctor his scratches much more slowly and meticulously than was strictly necessary.

“Severus,” Remus said, taking his time to warm the salve between his fingertips before smoothing it over the man’s skin as he spoke. “I know you’ve always felt it your duty to shield Harry from the worst,” he began carefully. “And I must say, I think you’ve done a remarkable job of it, considering. But you expect too much of yourself,” he said with a small, exasperated shake of his head. “You take on too much. You’re only human, Dear,” he whispered, catching Severus’ shocked black eyes with his warm amber ones.

The endearment warmed Severus’ cheeks, but Remus’ expression seemed to state that Severus could not protest the man’s fondness into non-existence. Severus was dear to Remus, whether he liked it or not.

“We cannot keep him insulated forever,” Remus went on before Severus could respond, still gently stroking salve onto his face, though Severus didn’t think he had any scratches left to treat. “Even if we could, we are under no obligation. One can only sacrifice so much for another before one loses oneself. I know Harry isn’t so selfish that he would wish that for you. I know I don’t,” he added quietly, blushing only a little. “You give him more than he requires; more than he deserves, if we’re all honest. While I certainly understand the impulse, there has to come a point where you choose to care for yourself, as well. He is an adult, and you are not responsible for the decisions he makes.”

“Surely you aren’t saying we should just allow him to traipse to his death,” Severus said with a critical scowl.

“I never said we shouldn’t follow,” Remus clarified with an adamant shake of his head. “Especially as I suspect the decisions he’s made were based on contrivance. All I’m saying,” he said, capping the jar of ointment and slipping it into his pocket before looking Severus firmly in the eye, “is that you cannot blame yourself for what has happened.”

Severus silently returned his persuasive stare. He wanted to dismiss the insinuation. He wanted to scoff, to say that, _of course_ , he knows, rationally, that he’s not actually to blame, and surely Remus credited him with more intelligence than to suppose he'd spoken literally. He wanted to do those things, but he could not. Because, no matter what his reason told him, he didn’t _feel_ it to be the truth.

“I devised the damned formula they used to turn him,” he argued instead, his voice small and anguished.

“But you did not feed it to him, Severus,” Remus maintained, chasing Severus’ line of sight as he tried to look away. “In fact, you’ve worked tirelessly since to bring him relief he’s scarcely had time to want. Nothing that has happened is your fault,” he reiterated. “You cannot single-handedly keep him from all harm.”

Severus felt his eyes fill with tears and he hated it. He was too soul-weary to keep his emotions in check, and Remus was so damned artful in coaxing them to rebel.

“But I want to,” he confessed in a whisper as a rogue tear dared to escape. Remus smoothed it away with his thumb, looking as pained to see it as Severus felt.

“And do you know why?” he asked softly, still cupping Severus’ cheek.

Severus did scoff then. The situation was laughable. He was weeping in front of Remus Lupin, being petted by him.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me,” he said, rolling his eyes. Remus, however, was completely serious when he responded.

“It’s because you wish it for yourself. You want someone to love you as fiercely and hold you as tightly; and as soon as you decide to allow me, I intend to do my damnedest,” Remus said with a vehement sincerity that humbled the Potions Master and instantly quieted his sardonics.

“But you aren’t some magic crucible, Severus,” Remus told him emphatically, bringing his other hand to the man’s face as well to prevent him from averting his gaze. As if Severus could have looked away from the man’s staunch expression, anyway. As if he wasn’t mesmerised by the utter and baffling depth of feeling he found there. “I know you think you can take Harry’s pain into yourself and transmute it and so save him from it, but that’s not the way it works. You have to share the burden,” he pleaded. “You have to let some things go and let others simply exist. You have to stop punishing yourself.”

Severus was trembling, looking at the werewolf as if he were some alien creature. What strange power did he possess that his words could so rattle the vampire? How in gods’ name was Remus so adept at finding the chink in Severus’ armour and thoroughly disarming him? But the pain he was trying to relieve the Potions Master of was too dear. Severus had held it too close for too long, and he resisted Remus’ attempt to separate him from it.

“I jilted Loraina,” he argued, though he wasn’t even sure why anymore.

“Severus,” Remus began with a shake of his head, his hands falling to grasp Severus by the shoulders as if he might actually shake him.

“I developed the serum,” Severus said before Remus could counter.

“Severus, listen to me.”

“I did the brute’s bidding for years,” Severus went on compulsively, his confessions tremulous, as if he was comprised of these sins and voicing them emptied him, leaving him hollow and rickety.

“Damn it, Severus,” Remus growled, pressing his forehead to the other man's, seeing him implode and trying to hold him together.

“I killed James and Lily!” Severus gasped.

Surely the man would abandon his efforts now. Undoubtedly that crime was too personal to forgive, and Remus would leave Severus alone with his regret. The werewolf stiffened but did not let go, and so Severus continued, illuminating for the poor, misguided soul exactly why Severus wasn’t worthy of the tenderness he’d seen in Remus’ eyes.

“I started this whole bloody business. I carried that prophecy to that _bastard_ to curry favour as if I thought he was somehow above murdering infants,” he spat, scarcely aware of the angry tears on his cheeks. “ _I_ condemned Harry to years of abuse at the hands of those Muggle monsters; to years of persecution, to the mantle of saviour.”

As determined as he was before that Severus look at him, Remus’ eyes were now pinned firmly to the floor, and so Severus grasped the man by the back of the neck, startling him into looking back up at him so he could convey the gravity of what he was saying.

“ _All_ of the darkness that is in him - that has ever been in him - is the result of my foolishness. I owe it to Harry to see that no more misfortune visits him. Ever.”

Remus’ expression was hard. Any moment now, Severus expected him to recognise Severus’ culpability and to rail at him; to strike him, even. Or, at the very least, to understand the folly of his affection and stumble away from Severus, disgusted that he had ever tried to love the man.

Without a word, Remus embraced him instead. It was tenacious, almost desperate, the way he clutched at Severus. The vampire was so taken aback that he allowed it.

“You’ve paid your debts,” Remus whispered fiercely. “You are not Fate's whipping boy, do you understand?”

Remus was still trying to save him. It defied all reason. Severus was dangerously close to surrendering to the man’s ardent forgiveness, to accepting what he was saying as truth. He tried to push Remus away, but Severus was shaking so hard, the effort was weak, and Remus refused to release him.

“This is not your fault, Severus.”

“ _No_ ,” Severus objected tearfully. “Don’t you see? I deserve-”

“To be loved,” Remus interrupted almost angrily. “You deserve to be loved, Severus. And you are, with no quid pro quo. For the sake of you, you are loved. You don’t have to earn it. You don’t have to work to be worthy of it.” Remus’ grip did not relax, but he turned his head, laying his lips by Severus’ ear as if trying to plant the truth as close to the man’s mind as possible. “You saved the world, damn it. You saved the boy, and the boy worships you. He does not blame you for his past. All you owe now, you owe to yourself. Severus, Voldemort killed James and Lily. _Voldemort_ banished Harry to those ghastly Dursleys. He forced you to develop a serum you purposely allowed to fail, at danger to yourself. You stayed under his thumb in order to liberate us all. _This is not your fault._ ”

Severus still rejected it, or at least he tried, but he stopped fighting Remus. He stopped pretending that he didn’t find comfort in the man’s relentless embrace, or that he wasn’t moved by his conviction in Severus’ worth. He stopped resisting the suspicion that he requited a far more generous portion of the man’s affection than he’d ever thought possible. And he accepted finally that Remus was a good man - as Harry had always said - deserving of the love and respect that he showed others. It seemed a silly thing to refuse such warmth and practically criminal to deny its return, and so Severus simply stopped.

His hands found purchase in the tattered robe Remus wore, and he clung to him, accepting Remus’ invitation to let go while Remus held on to ensure no pieces of Severus were lost in his collapse. For perhaps the first time in his life, Severus willingly surrendered himself to the keeping of another, even if only for a moment. He buried his face in Remus’ neck to muffle his cries and felt the man’s hand move to the back of his head to stroke Severus’ hair as he sobbed, encouraging him to further abandon.

Severus had almost expected to feel as much resentment as relief. He’d wept in Loraina’s lap when Harry left him, but nothing about that situation had been voluntary, and even as it soothed, it had chafed. This was different. Loraina had taken advantage of his vulnerability. Remus simply offered him a safe place to shatter.

“We _will_ bring him home, Severus,” Remus whispered, still combing his fingers through the man’s hair as his emotion finished spending itself.

Severus took a deep breath before releasing him and pulled back to nod, self-conscious about the mess of tears on his face until he saw that Remus’ glistened with them, also. He felt raw, naked but surprisingly unburdened, as if he’d been somehow reborn.

“I promise you,” Remus affirmed, smoothing the clingy strands of Severus’ hair from his forehead to lay a kiss there. It would have been unacceptably condescending from anyone else. But it wasn’t someone else. It was Remus, and it was fitting.

 

 

 


	26. Rather Comfort His Distressed Plight

**Before: Severus**

Severus was confused.

“ _Animus Secretum_ ,” he repeated, flourishing his wand. A puff of black smoke, as if the end of his wand was expelling chimney soot, materialised but almost instantly dissipated. Frustrated, Severus stalked down the hall to Loraina’s office. He entered without knocking, as she was wont to do, and she glanced up at him and took up her quill, as he had done to her the day before.

“Why does this not work for me?” he asked peevishly.

“Why does what not work for you, my love?” she sighed disinterestedly without looking up from her parchment. She was doing an excellent impression of the man to whom she was speaking, and Severus narrowed his eyes at her, knowing she was getting back at him for all the times he’d attempted to brush her off since she’d arrived.

“This mystery spell you’re teaching my students,” he replied, undeterred. “I’ve tried it, and I can’t get it to work. Why not?”

“You’re anal retentive,” she shrugged, still not looking at him.

“I am not-” he began, but he realised it was a lie even before it cleared his lips, and his scowl deepened. “What does that have to do with anything?” he groused. Loraina finally looked up at him, her amusement getting the better of her.

“You’re closed off, Severus,” she said rising from her seat and stepping to the front of her desk. “If you want the spell to work, you’ll need to... _open_ yourself.” She gave him an indecent look. “I could help with that, if you’d like,” she offered, vaguely gesturing to her desktop. The motion of her hand sent the items on it scooting back as if making room but not enough. It was a combination of insinuation and showing off her (somewhat limited) skills without a wand. Severus raised an eyebrow to communicate he was not overly impressed.

“Just explain the thing, will you?” he said with a withering sigh. Loraina eventually took pity on him and wiped the guile from her expression.

“You’ve had to put up too many walls,” she said, crossing her arms and resting back against her desk. “Understandable, of course, considering what you do. And because of that, perhaps this is not the spell for you. I have no doubt you’d prove as masterful in this as in everything else you do,” she said with no hint of sarcasm, “but the spell won’t work unless you dismantle some of those defenses, and until the fiend is dead, I would not have you weaken yourself, my love,” she said, sincere concern in her eyes.

Severus puffed out another sigh but nodded his acceptance and walked over to rest beside her on the desk.

“I was merely curious about what you were teaching Harry. If it’s dangerous to me, don’t you suppose it’s dangerous to him, as well?” he worried. “After all, I’m trying to foster the same defences in him.”

She shook her head. “He’s different,” she said, grimacing as if she were struggling to find the words to describe why she thought so. “Your defences come naturally,” she reasoned aloud, “but the boy wears his heart on his sleeve, and neither of us is going to manage to overcome that. What I’m teaching him plays to his strengths; and when the time comes, he’ll need that. He’ll need to unleash his power without thought or restraint. He’ll need to access it fully. And since the Dark Lord resides within him, in a way, it isn’t a matter of slamming doors, is it?”

Severus was not so sure but did not argue. “He’s good at this, then? This thing you’re having him do?”

“A natural,” she smiled as if Harry's potential thrilled her. “And he doesn’t need your subtlety,” she pointed out. “You’re closing out the Dark Lord while trying to make it appear you are not. You are submitting yourself for examination. Harry has the luxury of unambiguously attempting to expel the bastard. And he’s powerful enough to do it, I believe. But that’s just the internal battle. He’ll have to meet him face-to-face eventually. And there is a good chance that, when it happens, he’ll not have a wand.”

“You worry he’ll be helpless if he’s disarmed.”

“Oh, he can never be disarmed. That’s the beauty of it.”

Severus’ brow creased with confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked, unnerved by the width of her answering grin.

“When you told me what he’d done to the Headmaster’s office, it occurred to me the boy does wandless magic already, which is why we’re learning this spell in the first place. Harry is capable of so much more than the parlour tricks most do. The boy commands real power, even without a wand. And that means he has something else that acts as a conduit for his magic, something even the most powerful of us do not possess.”

Severus had never considered it before but thought it rather marvellous that Loraina had, and no doubt she could tell by his expression that he was impressed. She acknowledged his understanding with a nod and her eyes danced with conspiratorial delight.

“The scar’s the thing, Severus,” she whispered. “I _think_ ,” she added as a disclaimer. “We won’t know for certain until I can work with him alone, though.”

It was an obvious prompt, and Severus considered her for a moment. He was still uncomfortable at the thought in light of the possible consequences. Though there was no denying that she was mad as a hatter, that didn’t mean she was daft. He’d underestimated Harry. Perhaps he was underestimating Loraina, as well.

“And you’re sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked anxiously, as if for final confirmation before granting her the permission she sought. He expected excitement, giddy anticipation of his allowance, but she gave him a sober, scrutinising look instead.

“You have feelings for the boy, don’t you?”

Severus huffed. Just because everyone else seemed to want to bed the young man didn’t mean he was depraved, as well. Her incessant insinuation was becoming wearisome, and its timing was disappointing. Severus had better things to do with his time, and she apparently didn’t take this matter seriously enough. He threw her an exasperated sneer and started to rise, but she halted him.

“No, no. I know I tease, love,” she placated, “but I’m not talking about snogging. It’s an honest question. He’s more than a student to you, isn’t he? More, even, than the Chosen One.” Her expression was considerate, though he still wasn’t sure he trusted her seriousness. He gave her a wary look and settled back onto the desk but didn’t answer straight away.

Was he supposed to admit such a thing to her? He hadn’t even admitted it to himself. But he knew it was true. Somewhere along the way, without his quite noticing, Harry had taken up residence in Severus’ thoughts; the young man himself and not just the constant concern of keeping him alive.

“Should I not worry?” Severus asked, almost defensively. “He’s just a boy,” he fretted.

“Now, you know that isn’t really true,” she chided gently. Severus scowled at her.

“Which part, exactly?”

“He’s not just a boy,” she said with a shake of her head. “He’s never been ‘just a boy’, Severus, any more than you were. He may be grappling with hormones at the moment; none of us can help that, least of all him. Physically, he’s not fully mature. But you can see in his eyes that he hasn’t been a boy for quite some time,” she said quietly.

Severus returned her steady stare, and the man shivered. He didn’t like to agree but could not help but do so. He knew exactly what she was talking about. Perhaps he hadn’t allowed himself to see it until that night outside the Hogwarts Express, but there was no doubt the young man had left childish concerns behind him. He’d sampled them. Severus had watched him. Severus had been watching Harry since he was eleven years old, and he’d seen him attempt to embrace youth. But Life refused to let him, and Harry had already consigned himself that it always would. Perhaps he mourned it, but he no longer aspired to it, and it was a depressing realisation.

“He’s treated as a boy, though,” she went on with the same melancholy in her voice that Severus was feeling, “and I think it confuses him; confuses his actions, as if he’s torn between how he is and how he thinks he’s expected to be. The others, they think they don’t, but they treat him like a child. They shield him in the wrong ways. We have to do better by him, you and I,” she said as if the two of them were making a pact; as if it was up to them to save Harry’s soul. Severus was surprised by her determination.

“You don’t just see him as a weapon of revenge?” he asked, slightly sceptical still.

“I see him as many things,” she shrugged. “That included. It wouldn’t serve any of us to lose sight of what he’s intended to do. But he isn’t only that. And we understand him, don’t we? We’re teaching him how to take care of himself in the ways only we know how. That bunch of Gryffindors waste their time buffing the rose-tinted glasses they’ve fashioned for him. We’ll help him see things more clearly.”

Severus was torn. He’d known Harry for years. Loraina had only just met him but seemed to have far better insight. And not just into Harry but Severus, as well. Perhaps it was _because_ she was an outsider. Perhaps it gave her the necessary perspective. Severus had merely been too close for too long.

“Albus and the rest of them,” he told her, almost as if he were at confession, “they want to throw him in with the other children, to make him pretend that he’s one of them, that he’s normal. But we all know he’s not. Harry included. The problem is, they think he wants to be. They think he’s interested in fitting in and being liked and all that other rubbish because that’s what children his age are meant to want. But I suspect he simply wants some peace, and he’s not likely to find it with his peers. He wants to quiet the noise in his head, and I’m trying to give him that,” Severus admitted softly. “He’s actually far more adept at grounding himself than I expected him to be; and more receptive to my teaching. He made some impressive progress just last night.”

“Does that mean I can work with him, then?” she asked, finally betraying the excitement he’d expected earlier. Severus narrowed his eyes at her, trying to banish the suspicion that he’d been artfully manipulated somehow.

“You must be careful,” he stressed, hesitant to give her what she wanted. “I don’t think his power is inherent. I think a goodly portion has either been left behind by, or else is syphoned somehow from, the Dark Lord. He will know when the boy accesses it,” he warned anxiously. “I also believe the Dark Lord is too proud to admit this to his followers. He’ll want to understand it first, or else he’ll seem vulnerable; and at this stage, appearances are everything. He knows how shaky his footing is and will not admit any weaknesses. At least, that’s what I suspect,” he conceded, hoping he wasn’t misreading the situation. The Dark Lord was usually clever and calculated, but he could be surprisingly impulsive and arbitrary at times. Severus suspected he was simply mad; genius but barking. “I should be able to pretend ignorance on the matter, at least for a while; and in the meantime perhaps we can make enough progress with Harry that it won’t matter either way.”

“So that’s a yes,” she confirmed, grinning already.

“A tentative one,” he told her. She clapped her hands with a quiet squeal, and Severus had fresh misgivings. “But give me a few more days with the boy,” he added quickly. “He’s not quite where I’d like him to be yet.” Her excitement was not dampened in the least by the condition.

“Now, I’ve got to go. I’ve been given Breakfast duty,” Severus sighed, rising to his feet. “As if vampires are morning people. I swear Albus does it on purpose simply to be an arse.”

Severus left her to celebrate her small victory, still not convinced he was making the right decision. He couldn’t keep the two apart forever, though. He’d just have to make sure Harry could handle the ordeal.

The young man in question was sitting at the Gryffindor table alone when Severus arrived in the Great Hall. He seemed surprised when Severus approached him but not unpleasantly so.

“Professor,” Harry greeted politely.

“Potter,” Severus returned, equally civil but eyeing Lupin's cardigan. By the state of it, the young man appeared to be trying to live in it, and it seemed an unhealthy thing to allow. Though, Severus knew he had no right to take it from him, and since the werewolf was absent, if it brought Harry comfort, what harm was it really doing? Despite the Potions Master’s clear disapproval, Harry seemed unashamed. He looked as if he were daring the man to comment, but that would be a battle for another time.

“I merely wanted to inform you that you no longer need to forgo dinner before reporting to my office,” Severus told him instead. An empty stomach assisted the exercise but was not required.

“We're still doing that, then?” Harry asked, almost to himself. Severus raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Did you assume that one small step had made you a master?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, of course, you did. I must have forgotten to whom I was speaking,” Severus muttered, the task ahead of him suddenly daunting. “There is also the small matter of Mister Malfoy's nose having been broken,” he pointed out. “I realise you spend an inordinate amount of your time breaking things, Mister Potter; but that one, at least, I was witness to and intend to see you punished for,” he added sternly.

“I thought you said it wasn't detention?” Harry said. It was more curious than argumentative. Severus had expected far more fuming. The young man usually was contrary with Severus out of habit, at the very least.

“I had said that it is up to you whether you perceive it as punishment, but yes, it is still detention, Harry, and I expect your presence after dinner for the foreseeable future. Are we clear?” he said firmly.

Harry actually shrugged. “Yeah, alright. After dinner,” he said as if they'd just made plans to meet at the pub. Though it seemed a positive development, Severus was discomfited by Harry's casual lack of attitude. He couldn’t quite tell if it was sincere or if Harry was somehow being stealthily cheeky.

“Very well,” he said finally, still vaguely suspicious, before turning to wander on to the Staff table with a bewildered scowl.

Severus watched the boy closely - and the rest of the Hall, as well, to see if any of the students were planning to harass him - but except for several flirtatious looks from many silly little girls, all of which Harry ignored completely, breakfast passed without incident. Despite the young man’s seeming calm that morning, however, Harry turned up at his office for detention much earlier than expected. Severus thought he could tell he was eager to take refuge in the work.

He led Harry to the lab, and the young man was unquestionably pleased to return. His curiosity had not abated but seemed to have mellowed. He watched quietly but with interest as Severus dismantled the apparatus for Lupin’s Wolfbane. (The mongrel had better not change his mind at the last minute because the setup was intricate and assembling it again would be a pain in the arse.) Harry held the tub as Severus sedately deconstructed the thing, using the process as a substitute for his usual mindfulness exercise as Harry would be the one cleaning the pieces.

“So you're done with this experiment, then?” Harry asked finally, taking pieces of it from him and depositing them carefully into his bucket. Severus could tell he’d been itching to ask questions since they stepped foot in the room and had to suppress an approving smile.

“This was not an experiment, Harry,” he answered calmly but distractedly, as he was still focused on his task. It was good that the young man was engaged, though, and Severus wanted to encourage more dialogue between them. “It happened to be something I perfected some time ago, thank you. But seeing as how we will no longer be requiring Wolfsbane, I can now make additional space for another project which has proven to be more troublesome than anticipated.” The production of extra Substisanguinus was turning out to be unexpectedly complicated, and Severus had decided to devote the area to the advanced preparation of those few elements of it with longer shelf lives.

However, Severus was so focused on what he was doing, he failed to consider how the young man would respond to the information he’d just so casually provided.

“You won't make Wolfsbane for him anymore?” Harry asked, aghast. “Why? Why would you do that?” Harry’s breathing was becoming short. It concerned the man, but he remained calm. He did not want to exacerbate things by reacting too strongly. “Is it just because he's gone back to Grimmauld Place?” Harry demanded accusingly.

“Of course, you assume I've refused,” Severus grumbled softly with a sigh, carrying on with his work. “But you have it wrong, Harry. I am perfectly willing to carry on making the potion. Lupin, it seems, has refused to accept it,” he explained delicately. “Apparently there's something for which he feels he needs to atone.”

He observed Harry from the corner of his eye. He didn’t want to fuel the young man’s threatening anxiety, but he thought this could be a teachable moment.

“Foolishness if you ask me,” he muttered nonchalantly, hoping to defuse Harry’s panic. “But there's no accounting for Gryffindors. Wolfsbane is a wonderfully complex potion that requires a deft hand, and with the exception of the Ministry embargo making Glumbumble Treacle difficult to come by these days, I quite enjoyed the practice.”

Harry looked near to tears, not even noticing when the man finished his task and turned to regard him. The contents of his tub clinked faintly as Harry began to tremble. Severus lay a hand on his shoulder, startling Harry into looking up at him. He took care that the expression the young man met was not unkind.

"Sink, Harry,” he said quietly.

The young man nodded and turned to it, seeming grateful for the work. He didn't quite manage to focus as well as he had the night before, but the exercise appeared to help. It was satisfying to Severus, knowing that he was giving Harry such a valuable tool. It might not solve all of his problems, but it should help him, in some small way, to deal with whatever arose. Though Severus would have liked to have been at the sink himself, he was not disappointed by the young man’s presence. Severus quietly led him upstairs afterward and released him back to Gryffindor Tower, unable to deny that he almost looked forward to the following evening.


	27. Why Makest Thou it So Strange?

**Before: Severus**

The next week passed far more agreeably than Severus could ever have possibly predicted. He’d expected Harry to become increasingly resentful of his continued punishment, but quite the opposite actually occurred. They’d never not been at odds before, and it was strange at first. Then it merely became comfortable, and he and Harry fell almost effortlessly into a routine.

There were no warm greetings at the door but, every evening, once they had descended into the lab, Harry had new questions for him, and Severus couldn’t resist indulging the boy’s honest curiosity. At first, their miniature potions lessons were given and wrapped up before Harry started his exercise, as he should have silence for it to be most effective. But after a few days of this, Severus found himself getting carried away in one-sided discussions of his work, and at some point, Harry would merely begin scrubbing calmly at the sink while Severus waxed philosophical. He could do so smoothly as he went about his own tasks, bottling finished product or adjusting settings on his equipment. The young man couldn’t possibly absorb all Severus was telling him or even understand much of it; but Harry seemed to enjoy listening regardless, and, to his surprise, Severus found he enjoyed speaking, as well.

Severus so rarely had the _opportunity_ to speak, at least not at length and not about anything that he truly took pleasure in. He found it unusually satisfying to muse aloud on all the delightful intricacies of whichever potion Harry had quizzed him about that evening. It had been some time since Severus had given any thought to his love affair with potions; and it was as if, in explaining them to Harry, he was reminding himself of the reasons for it. Through Harry, Severus was rediscovering a passion that had become somewhat stale in recent years due to repetition and the tedium of attempting to convey the subtle and inherent beauty of potion-making to an unappreciative young audience.

Harry could not really appreciate those details, either, but he clearly appreciated Severus’ mastery of them, and Severus appreciated the young man’s silent acknowledgement of it. Each night, their sessions stretched longer and longer, as neither seemed in any rush to draw them to a close; and in the hours in between, Severus eventually admitted to himself that he looked forward to the young man’s company.

He was still divided on how he felt about that fact, however. Severus wondered how differently things might have gone in past years if they’d struck this balance earlier. He found it a pity that old rivalries and misunderstood magical influence had prevented it until now. He was not meant to be Harry’s friend, but he could still be his mentor.

The young man clearly needed one. To Severus’ supreme annoyance, Harry still wore Lupin’s threadbare cardigan, pushing back its sleeves to go about forgetting the pain that caused it to pass into Harry’s possession in the first place. If the young man were ever to truly move past the event, he would need to relinquish it. Severus secretly hoped it would have an unfortunate encounter with some caustic potions residue, and he had to actively fight the urge to make such a thing ‘accidentally’ occur.

Still, despite that constant reminder and the distraction the Potions Master provided, Harry reached a point in his practice that Severus finally, reluctantly, gave Loraina permission to meet alone with the boy. When he told her, she squealed in delight and immediately departed with no mention of what she planned for them to do or when she intended for them to do it; and so Severus was surprised (and not a little disappointed) to answer the knock at his office door one evening and find Loraina there instead of Harry.

She never knocked. It annoyed Severus that she had for some reason, as if she’d known he’d think it was Harry and had merely wanted to get under his skin. She looked smug and content. Severus thought it best not to ask why, or to ask about the bits of wood and debris clinging to her hair, though no doubt she was waiting for him to comment on them.

“Well, don’t look so happy to see me,” she teased as she stepped inside without waiting to be invited.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked tightly, glancing at the clock. “It isn’t that I’m not always delighted by your company, my love, but I’m expecting Harry for detention soon.” The hint was not subtle, neither was it meant to be.

“No, you’re not,” she said dismissively, hoisting herself up to sit atop his desk with no respect for the items that covered it, annoying him further. “Because he isn’t coming.”

Severus scowled at her. “Why not?” he asked apprehensively.

“I’ve just put him to bed, is why,” she said dreamily, swinging her dangling legs.

Severus’ scowl deepened. He didn’t like what she’d said or the way she’d said it, though he wasn’t sure why it so irritated him beyond the fact that she’d dismissed his student from detention without consulting him first. She couldn’t possibly have meant she’d actually entered Gryffindor Tower and tucked him in.

“Why?” he demanded. “Did something happen? And if so, why was I not informed?”

“Oh, something happened alright,” she muttered distractedly with a lift of her eyebrows and a mischievous smile.

Severus’ scowl intensified to a point it threatened lasting damage to his features. Loraina didn’t pay it much mind, she simply began humming to herself as she picked twigs and bits of leaf from her hair and let them fall unheeded all over Severus’ desk and floor. Severus gave both her and the litter a look so incendiary it was a miracle they didn’t spontaneously combust through accidental magic.

“Our Little Harry just displayed some remarkable talent,” she sighed happily. “I swear, my nethers are still quivering.”

Severus, who had been standing with his hand on the knob of his open door, hoping it would encourage her to pass back through it, now slammed the thing shut.

“Loraina, is your innuendo intentional?” he said, rather dangerously. “Because it is not appreciated. Why can you never speak plainly?”

She grinned at him, unaffected by his temper except to be amused by it.

“Because there’s no fun in it. Were you this jealous of me when we were together? It’s rather cute,” she said, poking the tip of her tongue between her teeth after.

Severus felt his hackles rise, but he refused to play into her hands. They’d had this discussion already many times over. He refused to waste any more time denying his non-existent attraction to his male, teenaged pupil. And he wasn’t going to remind her, yet again, that the boy’s virginity was practically sacred and not to be joked about. The insinuation was infuriating but addressing it only encouraged her.

“Loraina, where is the boy and why?” he said carefully. She sighed disappointedly at his self-control.

“I told you, I put him to bed. Don’t know if he’ll stay there,” Loraina shrugged. “He has been a good boy of late, though. Just venturing out for midnight snacks in the kitchens now and then.”

“Why the hell is he in bed at seven o’clock?” Severus practically shouted, reaching the end of his patience. She tutted at him.

“Have you always been this humourless?” she said, eyeing him with clear distaste. “I can’t imagine my falling in love with a boy so stuffy.” He glared at her until she relented.

“You told me I could practice with the boy, and so I have,” she said, exasperated. “He’s spent. Wandless magic takes an enormous amount of energy. And, Severus,” she said, taking a moment to catch her breath, which seemed to have been stolen by the memory of that afternoon’s events, “you would not imagine the amount of energy he discharged. I certainly didn’t, or I’d have had more on hand than chocolate for after. He worried me for a moment,” she admitted. “Woke up surprisingly quickly after, though,” she added brightly. “I’d only made it halfway to the infirmary with him. Decided to simply take him to Gryffindor Tower instead, as it was closer. He is truly marvellous,” she finished with a sigh as if she hadn’t just advised Severus that she’d led Harry Potter to blackout in the forest and then had to rush him toward medical care. Severus’ mouth had fallen open. He took in the leaves in her hair and the dirt on her knees.

“You took him to the woods? Alone? To practice wandless magic you knew would be taxing?” he asked, dumbfounded. It seemed unforgivably irresponsible.

“Well, I couldn’t risk him damaging the Castle or drawing attention,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe what he did to my cupboard the other day. It’s not something we can do often, though I am anxious to see it again. It was breathtaking.”

Severus was too angry to even shout. He walked stiffly back to his desk and took a heavy seat.

“Next time, I _will_ be present, is that understood?” he said in a tone that allowed no argument.

“Very well,” she sulked. “Though try not to be so grumpy, my love. I know you worry, but surely you know you can trust me. You know how important the boy is to me. I would never risk allowing him to come to any actual harm.”

Severus’ mood melted somewhat under her persistent and somewhat theatrical pout, and he puffed out a sigh.

“I know,” he admitted grudgingly.

He just disliked the idea of Harry being in any kind of danger. It was something he’d have to learn to get over. The boy would be in perpetual danger until the Dark Lord was vanquished, and the accomplishment of that feat would place him in immediate peril. The thought made Severus anxious, but he could not banish it. Someday, no matter how careful they were, Harry would have to face almost certain death. They were saving him to risk him at the right time. It made the man feel slightly ill.

“I forgive you,” she said, her mood lifting again. Severus woke from his thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow at her, not remembering having apologised for anything.

“Listen, my love, why don’t you and I go hunt? Hmm? I miss it. When was the last time you had real, warm, fresh blood? It won’t cause the medicine to work any less effectively. Might take your mind off of things,” she proposed. “Nothing for stress like getting lost in the hunt.”

Severus shifted uncomfortably. He had not tasted live prey in years. He had never particularly enjoyed it. There was the swoon, of course, but the entire concept disagreed with him, especially since he had an alternative. The hunt provided some thrill, but that was merely instinct taking hold and cancelling out reasoned thought. Severus could do that just as well with meditation. He didn’t need to take life to calm his nerves. He shook his head, and her hopeful expression failed.

“Well, I’m going alone, then,” she said, sliding from his desk and taking several of the papers resting beneath her arse with her, sending them spilling to the floor. She made no move to clean up the mess, and he knew it was because she was irritated with his refusal of her invitation.

“You’ll have your pet back tomorrow evening,” she tossed over her shoulder as she passed through the door, leaving it swinging open behind her. Severus stared after her for a while, allowing his temper to cool. Then he sighed and rose to close his door. He picked up his things and reorganised them before retiring to his cot in the lab where he mulled.

Harry had to be taught, and Severus was not qualified to teach him everything he’d need to learn. Still, Severus didn’t like any part of this situation. He never had, really, but before it had just exasperated him. Now, he was troubled. Now, it was not just Severus’ worry that the young man might find himself in a situation where he would be unable to fulfil his designated role, it was distress at the thought of Harry in any kind of jeopardy, physical or otherwise. It was the thought that he might do his duty and survive but come out the other side of it as good as dead. Loraina claimed to want to help them avoid that fate, but Severus was still distrustful. Not of her motivations, only of her methods. He felt as if he were the only one who truly understood the boy and everyone else was causing him harm, however unintentional. But Severus had other responsibilities. He couldn’t follow him about all the time as Loraina did. How was Severus to protect Harry from the good intentions of others when he saw the young man so seldom?

Severus then realised, somewhat bashfully, that he was less upset by Loraina’s carelessness than he was by the fact that it had deprived Severus of Harry’s attendance that night. He’d bristled when she’d referred to Harry as Severus’ pet, but was he treating him like one? It was true that having him around had been unexpectedly pleasant, but Severus’ newly rediscovered loneliness was not Harry’s responsibility, and Severus would have to eventually release the young man from nightly detentions.

It was ridiculous, really, that he felt so shaken by the prospect. He was annoyed at himself that he would actually miss their ritual. He should be relieved to think he’d be rid of the boy soon. But he wasn’t. In fact, the anticipation made him anxious. Breaking Draco’s nose merited at least a month of detention, though. Surely Severus could make peace with things in the next couple of weeks.

Or perhaps continuing their meetings that long would only make it harder to relinquish them.

Severus sighed. He felt foolish, mourning already the loss of a couple of hours in the laboratory each night with a boy whose company he’d only recently forced himself to learn to tolerate. He wasn’t Severus’ peer, neither was he his friend. They didn’t share anything besides a vaguely overlapping interest in potions. They didn’t connect on some fundamental level, did they? Harry was a student and Severus’ charge, and there was nothing really intimate about their interactions. It was nothing to turn maudlin over, for Merlin’s Sake.

Still, Harry’s lingering scent permeated the place. Severus found it was a comfort now rather than the annoyance it had been before, less a temptation and more a gentle reminder of his frequent presence. Though half a dozen projects bubbled and hissed on the tables around him, the room seemed uncomfortably quiet; and the hours that passed before Severus finally cajoled sleep to overtake him seemed egregiously empty.


	28. Drag the Villain Hither by the Hair

**Now: Remus**

The two men took a moment to collect themselves. Remus was very nearly as overwhelmed as Severus. He knew he’d been given something exceptionally precious. Perhaps it wouldn’t have occurred at all if not for the enormous pressure they were under at the moment, but that is how diamonds are formed, after all.

He would have liked to have held the man for longer, but he could tell Severus’ habitual need for self-control was reasserting itself, and they still had memories to view, besides. There would be a time for closeness later.

“Are you ready to go back in?” Remus sniffed, pulling himself together.

Severus was still a bit dazed but otherwise remarkably composed. When he nodded resolutely, Remus held out his hand again, pulling the wand from his pocket in readiness. All the reluctance had disappeared from Severus’ grip when he accepted, and Remus wasted no time throwing them back into the unfolding drama of Harry’s memory.

“I just don’t understand how you can draw a crowd this size so quickly,” Hermione said, bending to peek through a gap in the window shade of Ollivander’s shop. Though there was a considerable amount of noise outside, the place was deserted. Or rather, it had been evacuated in anticipation of their arrival. “I mean - and don’t take this the wrong way, Harry - but you aren’t all _that_ special.”

“It’s a good thing you’re around to remind me how mediocre I am, then. Severus stopped telling me years ago.” Harry was milling around as if bored, his back turned to them and his recently paired wand held tightly in his fist.

“Maybe he doesn’t find you mediocre anymore,” she proposed, still studying the gathering outside.  
  
“Well, I really think his opinion of me depends on which skills I’m practising at a given moment.”

Remus couldn’t help but smile at Severus’ blush. The man caught him looking and dropped Remus’ hand which he’d still been holding, but his embarrassment only lasted a moment.

“He isn’t wrong, you know,” he shrugged. Remus grinned outright.

“Alright. The Ministry agents are in place,” Hermione said, straightening as Harry turned to face them. She seemed to only just recognize the state of him and was mildly horrified. “You’ve made an absolute mess of your makeup,” she tutted quietly, reaching into her purse to pull out a compact. 

She’d done a masterful job of concealing his condition, and Harry had left Grimmauld Place that night looking very much like himself. His old self. Perhaps only those closest to him would ever notice the difference. Though of course, Remus had, and it had been bittersweet. He hadn’t realized he missed Harry’s glasses until he’d seen them on his face again. Still, it had been a shame to hide his new eyes behind so much glass, coloured and otherwise. Remus glanced over at Severus to find him stricken.

“That’s right,” he exclaimed softly. “You weren’t there to see him off.”

The man couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from Harry. He shook his head but was incapable of answering, and Remus grasped him reassuringly by the shoulder.

“I know,” Remus whispered. “I miss that version of him, too, sometimes.” 

Severus swallowed thickly. “I know he’s still him,” he admitted sheepishly, “but it reminds me of all the small ways he’s not anymore.” Remus understood what he meant, but he wasn’t sure how to respond, so he simply didn’t. 

“You look like a racoon in negative,” Hermione chided as she examined the damage to his disguise where Harry had rubbed at his contacts. She didn’t move to apply the makeup she held, though. Instead, she looked in the direction of the still-present Ollivander.    
  
“He knows, Hermione,” Harry told her.

Remus and Severus shared an uneasy glance. The old man wasn’t one to spread gossip, and Merlin knows he was surely privy to his share of secrets. Still, it made Remus uncomfortable how quickly and easily theirs was betrayed.

“You’re sure?” Hermione whispered anxiously.  
  
“Positive," Harry sighed. "Just do whatever it was you did before that made me not look like a corpse, and let’s get this over with.” Looking highly uncomfortable, Hermione did as she was asked.

“Okay,” she coached as she dabbed fresh colour around his eyes. “Remember: You’re recovering well. The investigation is ongoing. No comment on your Auror position. Thank you for your concern,” she recited in sing-song. “Be mindful of your fangs,” she added. “And don’t forget to blink.”

Harry listened to her instructions, turning increasingly sombre before taking the compact from her hands, despite her objections, and wrapping her in an unexpected hug.

“Thank you, Hermione,” he whispered shakily.  
  
“Whatever for?” she asked, finally relenting and returning the embrace.

“For being you. For treating me like me,” he replied quietly. It was a touching moment, and Remus quite forgave Hermione for keeping secrets from them. She had always done what she thought was best for Harry. It hadn’t always turned out to be, but her intentions were always pure.  

“How else would I treat you?” she asked with a small laugh as they parted.  
  
“Like a monster.”

Harry said it so plainly, it broke Remus’ heart. Perhaps he felt monstrosity was inherent to what he was now, and all this messing about with Rainey in the woods was simply him embracing his suspected nature. Though surely he didn’t think the same of Remus and Severus. He knew they had always striven to rise above their instincts, even though both were turned with just as much violence and spite as Harry was.

Hermione shook her head at him. “A person’s actions make them a monster, Harry, not their physical condition,” she said confidently. Harry didn’t seem wholly convinced, but he didn’t argue.

“Now, are you ready?” she asked, setting a hand on the door handle. He nodded and, with a steadying breath and a practised smile, they opened the door to an excited explosion of noise and flashing lights. Severus and Remus followed them through the door before it could drift to a close behind them and stepped to the side where they could view the entire gathering, as well as Harry and Hermione. 

“It’s no wonder he bolted,” Severus muttered, shielding his eyes from the incessant flicker of flashbulbs. Remus had to admit he found the relentless commotion of the crowd unnerving, and Harry’s senses were newly and extremely sensitive. The young man was clearly overwhelmed though trying valiantly to pretend he was not. His artificial smile was still in place, but his eyes evinced the breathless terror of a cornered animal.

“Yes, alright!” Hermione attempted to shout above the racket. “One at a time, if you _please_ ,” she said, addressing the row of reporters at the front of the throng. Their overlapping questions gradually staggered themselves, but not enough to allow Harry time to answer. The frustrated young man held up his hands to beg for quiet. Eventually, the questions stopped altogether, and everyone waited with quills at the ready for what Harry was about to say.

“Listen. I appreciate your concern,” he loudly told the assembly in general, “but I’m doing fine. Still recovering but doing well, thanks. No, I’ll not go into what happened. I’m not well acquainted with the Ministry’s investigation, though I can say there is one. No, I’m no longer an Auror. No, I have no idea what I’ll be doing…”  
  
Remus was confused by Harry’s sudden distraction, but when he turned to discuss it with Severus, he found him just as preoccupied. The man grasped Remus’ arm as if in warning.

“Virgin blood,” Severus explained shortly, testing the air and peering intently into the crowd. Harry wore a more subtle version of Severus’ expression. “Something’s not right about it. It’s old,” Severus scowled, sniffing. “It’s cold,” he added, confused. He released Remus to stalk the periphery of the crowd.

“Harry. Do they have any leads on the possible identities of your attackers?” Remus heard a reporter venture as he moved to follow his companion.

“No,” Harry began, still distracted. “Um...they…”

“There,” said Severus, pointing out a seedy-looking young man in the crowd. “In his hand. Do you see that?”

“Is...is that a phial of _blood?_ ” Remus asked. Severus nodded, equally incensed.

“They tried to trigger him in front of the cameras,” he said through teeth clenched in anger. “The absolute bastards. I could murder every last one of them.”

“If Harry hasn’t already beaten you to it,” Remus pointed out with chagrin. That certainly seemed to be Rainey’s plan, but Remus still couldn’t quite imagine the young man capable. Severus seemed to be thinking much the same thing.

“Harry’s never had the stomach for that kind of violence,” he scoffed. “He’s used anger to his advantage before, but murder?” He shook his head. “He instantly regretted attacking Draco. And it took Albus’ fall to inspire him to cast the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord himself. Loraina, on the other hand…”   

The vagrant they were observing suddenly seemed frightened. His eyes widened and he began backing out of the crowd. Remus glanced back and realised Harry was staring directly at the man.

“Severus. He’s spotted him.”

They divided their attention between the two young men. Harry watched with them as the would-be saboteur capped the phial, dropping it behind him as he hurriedly shuffled down the street. Severus seemed to be torn between the impulse to follow and the desire to stay close to Harry. Where in the hell were the Ministry agents, anyway? They did not have a vampire’s sense of smell, but surely they were watching the crowd for suspicious activity.

It didn’t matter in the end. With a pop, they abruptly found themselves several meters from where they once were. It was disorienting. From the shadowed doorway of a shop one street over, they heard the sudden outcry from the crowd they'd left behind.

Harry had Apparated Hermione with him. She wrenched herself free from his grasp and stepped back, livid.

“What on Earth! We’re meant to calm people, not start more rumours,” she shouted fiercely but quietly. “Harry, what have you-?”  
  
“Shut up, Hermione, and just listen,” he snapped, not even looking at her. His eyes were glued to the nearby alley into which the strange man had just disappeared. “It’s them,” he explained curtly. “One of them, anyway. I’m going after him,” he said, peeling off his glasses and shoving them into Hermione’s reluctant hand.    
  
“Harry, no,” she said firmly but was ignored. “Harry, just look at me for a moment.” She was beside herself. Remus understood her frustration first-hand. “The agents will be here soon. We’re not far from where we were. Surely they heard us Apparate. Just tell them what you saw and let them-”  
  
“No,” Harry barked. “We’ve talked about this, Hermione.”  
  
“But what am I to tell the others?” she asked, at a loss and increasingly undone by his stubbornness.  
  
“Don’t care,” Harry said, fishing out his coloured contacts and tossing them to the ground. His eyes were painted pitch beneath, and Remus could swear he could see Harry’s fangs peek from between his lips when he spoke. Then he was off.

Remus barely had an opportunity to process his departure before he felt Severus seize him around the waist with a single arm and heave him up onto his hip. Remus scrambled to find a secure grip around the man’s shoulders as he felt his feet leave the ground.

It was an awkward way to travel, but thankfully they didn't have to go far. Harry slowed to a speed the werewolf could manage as he moved down the alley, and Severus set Remus back on his feet. Harry darted from shadow to shadow, but the two men strode in a straight shot to the end of the lane. Stealth was not necessary for them, and Severus seemed to have spotted their target through the dark. Remus didn’t have the vampire’s blood vision, but he smelled the stink of fear wafting down the narrow stone corridor and followed it just as confidently. The vagrant had tucked into a nook on the side of a building, throwing terrified glances back the way they had come. Oblivious, he watched the mouth of the alley intently even as Harry passed him and re-approached from behind.  
  
Harry stood silently at his shoulder until the man slowly became aware of a presence behind him and turned to look up into Harry’s face. He opened his mouth to scream, and then they suddenly were Apparated to the Shrieking Shack. Remus found it difficult to regain his bearings with the man’s bellows echoing off the panelled walls.

After exhausting the first, the man gasped to scream again, tugging helplessly at Harry’s unyielding grip on his wrist. Harry stood staring at him impassively before backhanding the man to silence him. Remus winced at the casual violence. He couldn't deny that he’d wanted to do the same since spotting the bastard in the crowd, but there was no passion in Harry’s strike despite that he almost knocked the man unconscious. The young man's blank expression was disturbing. It was not at all what Remus was accustomed to where Harry was concerned. Harry was compulsively expressive, even and especially when he perhaps should not be. This apparent change in him chilled Remus to the bone. Severus, too, regarded his Dearest somberly as if recognizing yet another small way in which Harry was no longer himself.

The vagrant hung dazed and quiet in Harry’s grasp, and Harry had to shake him quite a bit before he was once again responsive. Then Harry propped the man up in a nearby chair, never loosening his grip around his wrist. He scrutinized his prisoner closely.

“What is your name?” Harry asked in a low, dangerous voice.  
  
“Ti-Timothy,” the man squeaked. He was visibly trembling.  
  
“You know what I am, don’t you, Tim?” Harry said, punctuating the question with a rumbling growl, his expression completely devoid of kindness.

It had the desired effect. A dark stain spread down the inner seam of Timothy’s trousers and he nodded with a whimper. Harry looked down at the arm he clasped and pushed back the dirty, sweat-stained fabric to reveal a badly executed Dark Mark tattoo.

“The bungling fools,” Severus muttered in disgust, looking over Harry’s shoulder at the thing. “As if pretending to be a Death Eater wasn’t moronic enough, they haven’t even drawn it correctly,” he sneered. Harry looked equally disgusted.  

“Then you know why you’re here?” he asked the man.

“I don’t know nothing!” Timothy averred. “Honest. I just do what they tell me.”  
  
Harry squinted at him doubtfully. “Were you in the factory?”  
  
“No,” said Timothy, shaking his head adamantly. “I swear. I never was in no factory. Honest!” he added, the shrillness of it making it no more believable. He was trembling even harder now and whining softly. Harry remained calm despite Timothy’s returning panic.  
  
“Do you know who _was_ in the factory?”  
  
“Nobody does. Them that done it weren’t allowed to talk about it. And word is they’re scared, ‘cause it didn’t go like expected. Don’t know if...if they’re scared of _you_ ,” he said with a gulp. “Or if they’re scared of the Boss.”  
  
“The Boss?” Harry demanded, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. “Who is it?”

Remus stepped closer, as eager to hear the answer as Harry was. But Timothy merely grimaced, unable to speak. Harry had unconsciously tightened his grip on his wrist. Remus could swear he could hear the man’s bones grinding together under Harry’s fingers and he winced, but Harry noticed his lapse quickly enough and loosened his grip again before repeating his question.

“Don’t know that, either,” Timothy eventually confessed in a small, frightened voice. “There’s not many as do, and I don’t know which they are, anyways.”

Severus huffed his frustration, seeming to be bothered less by Harry's new ruthless turn than he was by its futility.

“He’s a worthless goddamned lackey like the rubbish they apprehended weeks ago,” he spat, pacing angrily behind Harry. He exhausted the space available and turned back to return to where Remus stood but was brought up short by something in the shadows behind the man. The werewolf turned to find Rainey leaning against the busted door frame with her arms crossed, an affectionate smile on her lips as she watched Harry shake down his captive. Both men scowled at her. It was impossible to tell if she was part of the memory or an unexpected observer until Severus stalked over to her. He went to grasp her by the shoulders, but his hands went through her as if she were made of smoke. With a sneer, they ignored her re-solidifying image and turned their attention back to Harry.

The young man took a deep, calming breath and addressed Timothy again.

“Okay. Let’s try something else.” The granite in Harry's voice was unnerving. He pulled out his new wand, and Timothy began to panic again at the sight of it, twisting in Harry’s grasp.  
  
“Don’t kill me,” he begged, breaking into tears. “Don’t Crucio me! Please. I swear, I swear!”  
  
“Shut up!” Harry barked. Remus thought he saw his skin seethe ever so subtly, but Harry kept the wolf at bay. His patience was clearly wearing thin, though. “I’m not going to kill you,” he assured the other young man, once again calm. Timothy stopped struggling but gave Harry a distrustful look.  
  
“Promise?” he asked, seemingly unaware of the snot making its way toward his trembling lips.  
  
“I promise I’ll do no more to you than your friends did to me,” Harry answered coldly. That, however, did not serve to pacify Tim.

“I’m looking for a man,” Harry explained. “And rather than describe him, I’m just going to show him to you. Then you can tell me who he is and where to find him, if you know.”

Remus and Severus shared a confused glance which Timothy mirrored, though he seemed to have sense enough to dread what was about to happen. His eyes widened almost comically when Harry placed the tip of his wand to his own temple.

“‘Ere. What you gonna do with that, now?” he asked nervously, squirming as the memory dangling from the tip of Harry’s wand drifted closer to him.

“I told you,” said Harry. “I’m showing you someone. And then you are going to answer some questions.”

Severus grimaced with pained understanding. “Harry, what are you doing?”

Remus, however, had no idea what was happening, and his uncertainty left him almost as panicked and dreading as Timothy. The man tried to avoid the shimmering strand but buckled into stillness as Harry increased the pressure around his injured wrist. Harry allowed the tail of his memory to sink into Timothy’s temple and he went rigid, his eyes glazing over. 

“What’s going on, Severus?” Remus asked anxiously. Harry had gone quiet, waiting for Merlin knows what. “I’ve never heard of this.” Timothy began to twitch in response to some unseen stimulus, and Harry carefully followed the man’s jerky movements with his wand so that the memory would not slip out of his temple. 

Severus didn’t answer straight away. He looked abashed.

“He’s forcing this man to live one of his memories,” he finally confessed. “I’ve warned him against the practice, though I suppose this situation doesn’t strictly qualify.” 

Remus was amazed. He’d used the Pensieve before, but it had never even occurred to him that memories could be viewed in any other way. Severus was well versed in mind magic, though, so of course he would be familiar with what was happening.

“He’s showing him his attack? I didn’t even know that was possible.” 

“It’s dangerous,” Severus warned. “For the viewer. The memory becomes one of your own, but it does not belong. It has to carve out room. It leaves you damaged.”

Remus felt a presence at his shoulder. Rainey had been drawn from the shadows to watch the process with fascination. Harry seemed bored. He didn’t bat an eye when Timothy began screaming. They were the shrill, piercing screams of agonizing pain, so unlike the terrified shouts of earlier.

It was then that Remus realized the man must be feeling the pain Harry had felt when he’d been fed the potion, and he felt ill. He cast a distressed look to Severus who appeared near to tears himself. Judging by the cries, it had to have been truly excruciating, and Remus knew Harry had experienced this pain for days on end. Harry had moaned and writhed in his sleep, but his throat had been so damaged he couldn’t express the true extent of his suffering. Remus hated that he’d had to go through such an ordeal, and he hated the bastards who had forced it on him. Perhaps Harry’s cold cruelty wasn’t such a leap, after all. Remus couldn’t imagine he’d be any more compassionate if the same had been done to him.  
  
Seemingly satisfied that he’d seen enough, Harry reclaimed the memory, carefully slipping it back into his own head as Timothy quieted and slumped senselessly in his chair. He seemed exhausted. Still grasping his wrist, Harry crouched to bring his face level with the other man’s, drawing close enough for his whisper to be heard.

“You know now what I’ve lived through. Can you imagine, then, what I’m capable of?”

Timothy did not answer, seemed unable at the moment, but his eyes held a terror born of understanding.

“Now,” Harry said quietly. “Do you know that man? The one with the potion. The one who shot my partner.” He waited patiently for an answer, never easing his unblinking stare as a single tear preceded Timothy’s barely perceptible nod.

“That’s good, Tim,” he said encouragingly. “We’re making progress. Do you know his name?” Again, the man nodded.

“Willy,” the man croaked softly. “Willy Royal. They calls him Prince William. Or His Highness. They’re takin' the piss, but he thinks it’s a sign of respect, 'cause he runs an ickle gang o’ pushers. Tosser,” he snorted. “Right poofter if you ask me.” Then he gasped and gave Harry a frightened, apologetic look. “Sorry,” he muttered.  
  
Harry smirked, and Remus wondered what the man had seen to give Harry away. The young man didn’t seem to take offence.

“Don’t worry about it, Tim. Where does one find His Highness, Prince William?”  
  
“Has some mates on Tooly,” Tim rasped. “But one finds him pretty regular on Knockturn outside Moribund’s.”

“He’s known all this time,” Remus whispered. “No wonder he didn’t seem impressed by Kingsley’s report. He knew they were at Moribund’s already.”

“And it’s also why he tried to get them to quash the Ministry investigation. He didn’t want them getting there first,” Severus said with a shake of his head. He hadn’t been present, but Remus had briefed on the meeting the next morning.

“But he never investigated it himself. He didn’t leave Grimmauld Place for days after this. Hermione and I practically bled ourselves dry because he claimed he didn’t feel like hunting.”

“He didn’t have to go,” Severus said, glaring at Rainey. She’d returned to her threshold, a conniving look on her face. “He had an accomplice.”

Harry finally released Timothy’s bruised wrist and rose to his feet, apparently done with him.

“I don’t want to die,” the man whispered.  
  
“I told you I wasn’t going to kill you,” Harry said, not kindly but sounding more believable now that he’d gotten what he wanted and was feeling less frustrated.  
  
“ _They_ will,” Timothy whimpered, his face screwing up with proper tears now. Harry sighed.

“Let’s ask our friend about it, shall we?” he proposed.  
  
“Our friend?” Timothy asked, confused.  
  
Harry turned to Rainey. Remus wondered how long he’d known she was there. Timothy didn’t seem to like the look of her, but then who did? She pushed away from the doorframe and sauntered over.

“Well done, Lovely,” she said with a nod.  
  
“Do we send him with a message and watch them scramble?” Harry asked, as casually as if they were discussing takeaway. “Or do we take them by surprise?”  
  
Cobs considered for a moment. “Surprise is always an advantage,” she shrugged.

Harry nodded his agreement. Then he lifted his wand, alarming everyone present.

“Harry!” Rainey cried, throwing up a hand to caution him, but Harry was already sweeping his wand in Timothy’s direction. Remus watched it descend, and the pit of his stomach seemed to drop with it.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” Harry recited calmly.

Timothy’s eyes clouded over and he went still. Remus’ hand flew to his mouth. His relief was not relieving. He felt certain that before the night was over, he would eventually lose the battle to keep the contents of his stomach where they were.

Rainey lowered her hand and slowly nodded, and Harry narrowed his eyes at her.

“You thought I was going to kill him, didn't you?” he asked as if insulted.  
  
Rainey stared at him a moment, then simply shrugged. “It occurred to me you might.”  
  
“I told him I wouldn’t.”  
  
“And he and I are Slytherin,” she said. “We are well aware how little an enemy’s word is worth.”  
  
“But I’m Gryffindor,” Harry argued. She smirked as if she wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Perhaps. But all that means, really, is when you break your word, you actually think it’s justified.”  
  
Harry put away his wand. “They’ll still know,” he said ruefully. “He was likely meant to report to someone by now.”  
  
“It had to be done,” Rainey assured him. “They won’t know what he told us, at any rate. They might suspect what you’re looking for, but they won’t be sure of that, either. They'll likely think he was simply sloppy and was caught. Which is what happened. It will be fine.”  
  
“So," Harry asked with a wince, "where is everyone?”  
  
“They _were_ in the Headmistress’ office," she reported, drifting over to examine their captive. She seemed vaguely amused by the state of him. She prodded him gently but Timothy didn't respond in any way and she seemed disappointed. "But they’ve gone home to Grimmauld," she said with a sigh as she turned back to Harry, "suspecting that’d be where you turn up.”  
  
“How bad is it?”

Rainey chuckled. “Well, no one is especially pleased, but they haven’t filed a Missing Persons just yet.” She gave Harry a wily, appraising look. “I was surprised you’d told the Granger girl.”  
  
“She didn’t leave me much choice,” Harry confessed. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I suppose she told everyone I’d gone arsehole hunting?” he said miserably.  
  
“No, actually,” Rainey told him as if she’d been pleasantly surprised by it. “That’s how I knew what you might really be up to. You can tell she isn’t comfortable with lying, but the others trust her more than I do and didn’t seem to question her that you’d simply panicked and disappeared. But then they don’t know about our little project, either," she added with a wink. "They likely think you ran somewhere secluded to grieve over your condition. How refreshing to find them wrong.” She stepped closer, giving Harry a look he’d have to wash off later. “I suspected you’d want privacy, whatever you were doing, and I eventually found you here.”  
  
“I suppose I’d better go deal with all of that, then,” Harry said resignedly. He looked suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll take care of our friend here,” Rainey offered, casually picking Timothy up and tossing him over her shoulder. “You go calm Mother,” she smirked. “We’ll talk later, Lovely.”


	29. But Like a Drunkard Must I

**Between: Remus**

 

_Who do you think you are to command me?_

The words echoed through Remus’ memory again and again.

_Halt my step one more time, Remus, and I swear to all the gods…_

Half a bottle of Firewhisky hadn’t managed to dislodge Harry’s fierce glare from his mind’s eye. The command had been unintentional, and the venom in Harry’s expression had been unexpected. The force of it had knocked all the air from Remus’ lungs. Even remembering it, he found it hard to breathe. This wasn’t the first time the young man had wounded him lately, but it was the deepest cut. They’d seemed to be doing so well. Where had Remus gone wrong? What had he done? He kept trying to put his finger on it.

“This looks familiar.”

Remus raised a bleary-eyed look to the kitchen doorway and smirked. “It feels familiar,” he told Rainey, chagrined.

“Boy troubles?” she asked, turning the closest chair and straddling it.

“You could say that.”

“What did he say?” She looked genuinely interested for a change. “Where did he say he’d been?”

“He didn’t,” Remus informed her, tipping back his bottle before remembering it was empty. He gave it a dirty look and tossed it in the direction of the trash bin, missing by quite a bit. He couldn’t be arsed to care when it rolled back across the floor and hit the toe of his shoe.

“Pity that.”

“Yes, well, I assume Severus was able to wring something out of him,” he said with a curl of his lip. “And hopefully some answers, as well.”

Rainey scowled. “Oh? Though, I was referring to the empty bottle. I’ll bring you a fresh one, shall I?”

“I wouldn’t refuse it.”

“Perhaps after I’ve been up to see Harry,” she ventured.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Remus warned. “I suspect they’re both still recovering. They’ve just had a rather...enthusiastic reconciliation,” he sneered.

It was an inadequate description, but how else could he phrase it? Hermione had been half a moment from calling the paramedics. Remus had had to catch her by the arm to stop her rushing upstairs.

“Trust me. You do not want to interrupt what’s going on behind that door,” he’d told the young woman. She’d seemed appalled at Remus’ lack of concern until she’d worked out what was actually happening.

“But it sounds as if he’s being _murdered_ ,” she’d argued, thoroughly scandalised. “You don’t mean those are _good_ screams?”

“I do," Remus had sighed. "Harry has some...peculiar predilections in the bedroom, with which Severus is extensively familiar.” On cue, the noises overhead increased in volume and suggested violence, and Hermione had blushed to the roots of her hair.

“I think I’ll just wait for Severus in his lab,” she had mumbled, scurrying off to collect an armful of books from the library before disappearing through the floo. Remus could hardly blame her. Her room was next door to Harry’s.

In his reverie, Remus had almost forgotten Rainey was still there and wasn’t entirely pleased to find her so. She didn’t seem particularly enthused herself and was tossing disgruntled looks up the stairwell.

“Give it up, Rainey. They’ll never quit one another. Not for good. Harry practically tore out Severus' heart and ate it in front of him," he scowled, angry over the slight all over again. "And all Severus did was drift about the lab like a ghost for three days, absolutely refusing to be comforted. Now where are they?" Remus muttered drunkenly, laying his head in the nest of his arms on the table. “They’ll literally be up each other’s arse until the day they die. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how one of them goes, actually.”

His voice was too loud in the tiny echo chamber he’d created. He had no idea if the woman could even understand him.

“They’ll never be ours,” he said, sitting up again to be plainly understood. “For a moment, I thought I might manage the both of them. But we might as well face it. Maybe it’s time we stopped holding our breath.”

She didn’t answer except to glare at him. He wasn’t especially surprised when she stood in a huff and stormed from the room. He was surprised, however, to wake from a short, whisky-induced nap to find an unopened bottle of brown liquor on the table by his head. He smiled at it, thinking that maybe Rainey wasn’t a complete bitch, after all, as he pulled the top and filled his tumbler to the brim.  


	30. 'Twill Vex Thy Soul to Hear What I Shall Speak

**Now: Severus**

The night sky beyond the windows was softening into a range of greys. Dawn was still a ways off, but at this rate, it would come before they were finished. Minerva would be rising soon. Severus was rather surprised they hadn’t woken her already.

It had been one of the longest nights of his life, and it wasn’t remotely over. Still, the two men were once again at a loss for words. Severus paced, missing his robes for the first time that night. Something about the way they billowed was familiar and grounding. The flap of his open shirt and the breeze through the rents in his slacks as he strode back and forth didn’t have quite the same effect.

“Ten galleons says they’ve been to Moribund’s and left again already,” Severus muttered. “I have no doubt Loraina’s been casing it since the night Harry got his wand.”

“Are we not going to discuss the fact that he essentially tortured a man?” Remus asked.

He seemed far more pained by it than Severus was. It wasn’t that it didn’t touch him at all, but as far as Severus was concerned, Harry was well within his rights. ‘Timothy’ had tried to induce the young man to betray his condition in front of the entire Wizarding world. And Severus had no doubt whatsoever that if he had not been caught at a disadvantage, he would have slipped a knife between Harry’s ribs without batting an eye.

“As Harry said, he did no more than had been done to him. A good deal less, actually.”

“And what did Rainey do?”

Severus stopped his pacing and locked eyes with the man. Did he really need it to be said out loud?

“She’ll have killed him, but Harry couldn’t know that. He doesn’t know her like we do,” he argued, trying to convince himself.

“And you aren’t bothered that your ex-girlfriend just committed murder?” Remus scowled, shaking his head.

“As if you didn’t kill your share of Death Eaters,” Severus sneered.

“That was different, Severus. That was war.”

Severus rounded on him. “What the Hell do you consider this?” he snarled, checking his volume at the last moment with a glance toward Minerva’s quarters. “Just because this one is personal doesn’t make it anything less.”

Remus gave him a pursed-lipped stare. “I think we’ve just discovered another essential difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins,” he muttered, looking away as if in disgust.  

 _Oh, for the love of Hermes._ The perpetual self-righteousness of Gryffindors was fucking nauseating.  

“Do you not understand that these people are human refuse? That they flood the streets with toxic substances that kill daily, and they don’t care because it’s swimming through their veins, as well? This _Boss_ deals in the suffering of others for profit. You want to know if I’m bothered that Loraina put some brainwashed junkie out of his misery? Not especially,” he intoned. “These people are sustained as much by malicious ideology as by Mut. They cannot be rehabilitated. Hate festers in their stomachs even more hotly than the noxious materials they so eagerly consume,” Severus spat, pacing again. “If Harry and Loraina wipe out the lot of them, the world would be better for it.”

Remus looked as if he’d have liked to have argued further but decided it wasn’t the time for it. Which was good, because Severus didn’t have the heart to fight with the man, especially about this.

“Hermione should have told us where Harry had gone,” Remus fretted instead. “I understand her keeping it to herself when he told her his plans initially, but when he disappeared after a potentially dangerous criminal…”

“She was merely protecting him,” Severus said, waving off Remus’ criticism. “If that same criminal had turned up dead after, her disclosure might have been the only thing linking him to Harry.”

Again, Remus did not argue, but he wasn’t placated.

“In any case, there couldn’t be much left,” he sighed, gesturing to the Pensieve. “Harry only went out once more after this,” Remus added anxiously as if dreading what they would discover about that evening.

Severus nodded. It was time they finished this so they could go to the young man’s aid. Severus was far more worried about the damage to Harry’s soul than he was about the risk to his person. Though he might not seem so, Severus was just as concerned about Harry’s actions as Remus was. The young man was on a dangerous road and, knowing Harry as he did, Severus feared his ensuing guilt would prove far more perilous to him than the physical threat he faced.

This time, it was Severus who drew his wand. _Remus’_ wand, he reminded himself. He still hadn't returned it. It didn’t seem particularly important just at the moment. He offered his hand to Remus, and the man took it firmly.

They were suddenly in the Forbidden Forest once again. Harry walked through it calmly, and the silence when Loraina joined him seemed companionable now rather than strained. Partnering in crime seemed to have had a bonding effect.

Severus could see the ghosts of the bruises he’d made the evening before this on Harry’s neck and wrists. He’d worried at the time that he’d been too severe, but Harry certainly hadn’t complained, and Severus couldn’t deny that seeing the brands warmed his heart, especially since Harry had refused to allow Severus to heal them. He couldn’t deny that he was also warmed by Remus’ refusal to relinquish his hand, despite their recent disagreement. Severus pretended not to notice. Their silence was companionable, as well.

“Those must have been impressive to still be showing,” Loraina remarked. “I suspect Severus, but the werewolf may be as savage, as well.”

Harry did not answer. He appeared to be brooding on something.

“I thought you were going to stop toying with them,” Loraina scolded.

“I’m not toying,” Harry objected weakly.  
  
“But you _are_ leaving,” Loraina pressed, clearly suspicious. Again, Harry declined to answer, and it did not seem to bode well with her, though it heartened the two men following them. “So you are toying,” she concluded as if he’d confirmed his intention to go. “You should not encourage their affection if you plan on forsaking it.”  
  
“It really isn’t your business,” Harry muttered in the same tone Severus had just thought those same words. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“If our roles were reversed, would you still think so?”  
  
Harry glanced at her uneasily. “Are you certain you aren’t just jealous?” he asked finally.

“Of whom?” she chuckled. “And I’m not sure yet. You could show me what I have to be jealous of,” she proposed, but it was recognisably banter, and Harry cracked a smile.  
  
“Back off, Loraina,” he warned lightheartedly.

Severus disliked that Harry seemed so unbothered by her flirtation. Nothing they had witnessed since had managed to unseat the mental image Severus had of her spreading her hand over Harry’s blood splattered and bare stomach after the hunt. He saw it nearly every time he closed his eyes. Severus had been glad he’d been alone at the time, as he’d very nearly come unglued.

“Tetchy brat,” Loraina tsked, smirking. “And after all I’ve done for you,” she sighed.  
  
“And what _have_ you done lately?” 

“I’ve found our wayward prince,” she reported as if pleased with herself. “I did some watching while you were off having fun.” She pouted, eyeing his bruises.

“And Timothy?”

“Taken care of,” she shrugged. She volunteered no details, and Harry didn’t appear to want any. Something else was on his mind, though, and he chewed on his question for quite a while before voicing it.

“Loraina, would you tell me about Severus?” Harry asked politely.

The man was both shocked and humbled to hear the request; and not a little anxious. Severus glanced uneasily to Remus. There was no telling what answers the woman might supply. But Remus merely squeezed his hand more tightly as if to say it didn't matter, that he wouldn’t be scared off so easily.

“What about him? I’d have thought you were well acquainted by now.”  
  
“You know he doesn’t talk about the past,” Harry said. “Not even our past,” he added glumly, making Severus feel ever so subtly like rubbish. He’d always deflected Harry’s questions, as so little had happened before they were together that didn’t shame the man, and he’d worried that Harry was too young to understand. Eventually, Harry had simply stopped asking.

“Besides, I want a different perspective,” Harry went on. Loraina smiled in a way that was familiar to Severus and unnerving because of it.

“Tell you what, Lovely,” she said, stopping him so they could talk. Remus and Severus drifted to a halt close beside them. “We’ll trade.”  
  
Harry looked at her apprehensively. “Trade what?”  
  
“Memories,” she said plainly. Severus dropped Remus’ hand in his alarm.

 _For the love of all the gods_ , Severus willed, _please don’t let her be referring to what I think she is referring._

Harry scoffed. “I’m not much of a storyteller,” he said, “and you’ve been around for as long as Severus and I have really been together.”  
  
“You miss my meaning,” said Loraina. “That was an interesting trick you used with Little Timmy. I wasn’t aware a memory could be viewed without a Pensieve.”

Severus’ eyes fell closed. “Gods damn it, Loraina,” he muttered, gutted.  
  
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I found out by accident,” he explained. “Severus’, not mine. But he says it’s dangerous, can make a person go mad, which was why the Pensieve was created.”

“That’s it, Dearest. Stand your ground,” Severus whispered, drawing closer to the pair as if Harry might hear him.

“I like a little danger,” Loraina shrugged. “Besides, I don’t have much sanity left to preserve.”

“That doesn’t mean _he_ doesn’t, you batty damned wench,” Severus snarled quietly, glaring at the woman.

“Don’t tell me your famous Gryffindor courage has failed you,” she taunted, stepping closer. “Come on, Lovely. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” she smiled, walking her fingers up the centre of Harry’s chest. He brushed them away with an exasperated sigh just before Severus could loose a string of curse words.     
  
“What do you want to see?” Harry asked cautiously. Severus threw up his hands, striding back to Remus as if the man could somehow stop this madness.

“I knew it,” he muttered. “He is so easily fucking led. This is child’s play for her. He’s goddamned putty!” he fumed.

Remus simply gave him a helpless look and rubbed Severus’ back to try and calm him. It was not as welcome as his efforts at comfort before, but so soon after them, Severus felt it rude to stop him.

Loraina had obviously been considering Harry’s question long before he asked it.

“I want to see what happened in the Malfoys’ dungeon,” she said with no shame whatsoever. Severus spun back to face them, officially beside himself. The back rubbing increased but irritated far more than it soothed.

Harry scowled at her in disgust and turned to continue walking, making Severus feel marginally better as they rushed to follow. Loraina danced along beside him for a few steps, as tickled as Severus was annoyed, but Harry refused to acknowledge her. Finally, when it was clear Harry would not stop again, she turned to walk backwards so she could look him in the face as she spoke.  
  
“What? Did you think I wanted the two of you making Bubotuber extract?” she grinned. “I’m curious. Severus hated the very idea of homosexuality. And I know why,” she added meaningfully, causing Harry to stop walking after all. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Severus realised he’d gone unusually still. He practically wasn’t even breathing. He could tell the comment had sparked Remus’ interest, but the man refrained from asking what was obviously on his mind.

“Severus, you’re shaking,” he noted with concern. “Are you alright?”

Severus merely shook his head, listening with terrified anticipation for what she would say next. He’d confessed it to Harry himself on the Dark, but he’d been purposefully vague. He wasn’t sure he could bear the young man knowing the details.

“I want to know how you overrode that,” Loraina went on. “I want to know what you did to make him-”  
  
“Defy his nature?” Harry cut her off waspishly, causing Severus’ brow to furrow. The comment had been surprisingly vehement, as if the young man had wondered it himself before and had been bothered by the contemplation. It was such a harsh way to put it. Did he really think that was what Severus did with him? Did he think Severus considered it that himself?

Loraina looked slightly shocked. “Oh, no,” she said dismissively. “No, Severus fancied boys in school.”

Harry looked surprised, but not half as much as Severus who actually stumbled back a step. 

“Oh, he didn’t realise it, of course,” she went on. “Or else he would not allow himself to acknowledge it because of what happened.”

Severus’ cheeks burned. He could feel Remus watching him, but he was too busy processing what Loraina had said to address it. He wanted to deny the assertion. But as Remus had said before, whatever Severus was, he was not fucking straight. It seemed everyone had recognised that fact before he had.

“What _did_ happen?” Harry ventured. Severus winced.

 _Of course_ , Harry would ask. Remus might be too polite, but Harry’s inquisitiveness was practically involuntary. A part of Severus felt the young man deserved to know. All of it. But it was far too painful for Severus to voice. Besides, he was afraid of Harry’s knowing somehow. He worried the young man would see him differently; that he would treat him differently.

_Severus was afraid Harry would be disgusted._

Though he knew, rationally, that he had done nothing wrong, that he had committed no sin and so should not be ashamed of what had happened, he felt shame nonetheless. No matter how he reasoned with himself, he could not slough it. It clung to him like a second skin.

Loraina looked back up at Harry as if she’d momentarily forgotten he was there, but she hesitated to answer his question.

“I don’t think that is my story to tell,” she said quietly, and Severus felt he might faint with relief. Finally able, he took a shuddering breath. Harry might deserve to know, but Remus didn’t quite yet. If ever.

Though, Severus realised it wasn’t so much that he minded Remus knowing as it was that he knew the man would force him to confront the trauma. And Severus had spent far too many years buttressing himself against that pain. This wasn’t like his sense of blame for Harry’s predicament. His quarantine of the memory in question was quite simply a matter of survival. It seemed silly almost, considering all the things he’d lived through since. But that incident had always been the exception because, at the time, Severus hadn’t yet been the man he was to become. He had not yet developed his armour. It had been precisely that experience which had inspired him to don it to begin with, and without that protection in place, the event had damaged him far more than he had ever been able to acknowledge, even to himself.

“But my losing my virginity in captivity to your homophobic ex-boyfriend is fair game?” Harry asked peevishly in counter to Loraina’s refusal, reminding Severus he couldn’t relax completely just yet. _Gods_. He made it sound so distasteful. That happened to be one memory that Severus cherished, despite of the difficulty of the circumstances surrounding it. He’d assumed Harry did as well, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Loraina’s grin returned. “Oh, but he’s very open about that now, isn’t he? He didn’t seem to mind who heard him ravage you last night,” she pointed out, setting Severus’ cheeks aflame.

“Could this memory get any worse?” he muttered to himself. At this point, the only way it could be any more vexing is if they started commiserating with each other over their disappointment in the size and performance of his fucking cock. Of course, it had been Severus who had told Harry to cry out that night, and at the time, he’d wanted the whole world to hear. Severus viewed the situation slightly differently now that he wasn’t inundated with lust and all questionable impulses that high could induce. Remus was visibly uncomfortable at the mention, but then, he’d done much the same thing the morning after the Full, and so Severus wasn’t entirely inclined to feel remorseful.

“You were there?” Harry asked, shocked. Loraina chuckled at his discomfort.  
  
“No, but I heard stories.”  
  
“From whom?” Harry demanded.

“Lupin,” she shrugged. “When I went to get him more Firewhisky. He’d run out. Too drunk to get his own.”

Now it was the werewolf’s turn to blush. Severus felt bad despite his resolution not to. He’d heard Harry shout at the man before he came upstairs but had been soon distracted from it. Together with what had distracted Severus, Remus could very understandably have been driven to drink.

“I wanted to talk to you, but was advised to wait,” Loraina explained. “He said you and Severus had had a 'rather enthusiastic reconciliation'. I wouldn’t mind that memory, too,” she added, “if you don’t mind.”  
  
Harry gaped at her. He was so affronted he couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Of course, I mind, Loraina!” he finally sputtered.  
  
Loraina, however, seemed finished with playful banter. She glared at him for a pregnant moment before eventually lunging in his direction. Remus and Severus both started toward them as if they could do something to stop the attack. Harry was caught off guard, offering no resistance when she took him by the shirtfront and pushed him back into the trunk of a nearby tree.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve known a friendly touch, you little shit?” Loraina hissed. “And how much I’d prefer it was Severus’? Do you know how long I’ve lamented that such a thing was impossible? It doesn’t cost you anything. You don’t lose it. You don’t even have to touch me,” she spat, releasing him. “I’d say we both win.”  
  
Harry stared at her, shaken and reluctant. “It’s private,” he hedged.  
  
“I certainly hope so,” she said, stepping back. “But so is what you ask. Come now, Harry,” she said, her aggression dissolving into persuasion. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it felt like to have tits?” she asked, running her hands lightly over the contours of her own. “Or a twat?” she added, slapping her crotch.

Harry sneered at her vulgarity, and Remus shook his head with a sigh. Severus simply rolled his eyes.

“I’ve certainly always wanted a cock,” Loraina shrugged, causing Severus’ lips to twitch into an almost-smile despite himself. “Let’s not be selfish, now.”  
  
“What would you show me?” Harry asked, tempted.  
  
“What do you want to see?”  
  
Harry was quiet for a while, contemplating, and Severus did not even bother to be anxious. He knew the young man had decided to go along with this insanity even before Loraina had thrown him against a tree. As ever, Harry was curious; perhaps even more so about Loraina now than Severus. It was all too often his personal siren song, luring him to ruin, and Loraina seemed well aware.

“I want to see how Severus was in school,” Harry said finally, “before-”  
  
“Before your father spoiled him and turned him onto the road to damnation?” she offered innocently. Severus smirked in amusement. Harry glared at her. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Lovely. You said you wanted to see.”  
  
“I think you know what I want,” Harry muttered, disgruntled but undaunted. “Surprise me.”

His smirk closely resembled Severus’. The man was almost proud of the amount of contempt it conveyed. He supposed he must have rubbed off on the young man over the years.  
  
Loraina ignored Harry’s disdain and smiled triumphantly.

“And I know you know what I want, so pick some juicy ones, Lovely,” she said, dropping to a sitting position where she was.

Severus was resigned but resentful knowing Harry was about to share with her, in as much detail as humanly possible, something the both of them had refused to describe to anyone for years. Albus had all but demanded to see Severus’ memory of the Malfoy dungeons, and Severus had all but told him to go to Hell. And now here Harry was, letting Loraina live his.

Harry sighed and glanced at the moss bed a few steps away but seemed to feel it would be more trouble than it was worth to suggest moving. He stepped away from the tree to sit cross-legged beside her.

“This feels wrong,” he said anxiously.  
  
“It is,” she confirmed. “Shall we begin? I’ll even let you go first. I think,” she said, her eyes dancing with excitement, “I think I’ll show you the first time I ever saw Severus.”

She grinned remembering. But then her gaiety faltered and she looked uncertain. It was an expression seldom seen on her; was rare enough, in fact, that Severus was disquieted by it.  
  
“What?” Harry asked to her lost expression.  
  
“Nothing,” she said after a moment more, seeming confused by her own sentimentality. “I simply hope you understand what a gift this is,” she told him solemnly, warming Severus’ heart to her once again. His lingering affection for the woman was maddening. Severus was so conflicted by this whole turn of events. He begrudged Loraina’s spying on his and Harry’s intimacy, but at the same time, he remembered hers almost as fondly as she did.

She placed the tip of her wand to her temple and withdrew a slender, obviously prized memory.

“You should probably lie down.”


	31. O, What a Sympathy of Woe is This

**Before: Severus**

Severus’ sleep was fitful. He drifted in and out of it, plagued by a sense of foreboding. When he did sleep, his dreams were strange, though he did not carry the details into waking. There was only a sense of reaching and desperation. Urgency and futility. Severus grasped for something just beyond his reach, something he must but could not have. His last dream was so charged, it jolted him awake. But instead of the low, grey stones of his ceiling, Severus’ eyes snapped open to see a pale face hovering only inches above his own, and he gasped.    

“Hello, my love.”

“Loraina!” Severus sputtered, struggling to scramble upright and away from her but too disoriented to manage it at first. “What in the name of Hermes Trismegistus are you doing here?!” he spat angrily. He wondered just how long she’d been there. Walking into his office unannounced was one thing, but this crossed a line Severus could not allow.

She seemed unconcerned beyond her impatience with his groggy but disapproving glare, and she took a seat on his cot in the space recently vacated by his feet, speaking rapidly to him before he was even properly awake.

“Well, I just came back from the hunt,” she explained, leaning in confidentially despite that they were the only two present. “Didn’t even have to leave the grounds, actually. Badger got caught on this side of the wards. But that’s neither here nor there,” she added, waving a hand as if to shoo off her own irrelevance. “The thing is, I just made it back to the Castle and smelled something intriguing in the corridor I thought you’d like to know about. You’re always chastising me for teasing you with information, so I came straight here to fetch you.”

Severus was coming around, but sleep still stubbornly clung to him, and what she’d said was penetrating the fog only slowly.

“Why? Is it serious? What do you mean you smelled something?” he scowled, scrubbing his hands over his face to rid him of the last of his cobwebs.

“Come with me,” she said urgently, rising from the cot and striding toward the stairwell.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus. You don’t need your robes,” she tutted when she glanced back to see that he followed. “You aren’t naked. Just come on before it dissipates!”

Grumbling, Severus tossed the garment aside and rushed to follow, feeling undressed in just his shirtsleeves. When they reached the sitting room, she didn’t move toward the floo. Instead, she slipped quickly through his front door and the two of them sprinted through the dungeons at preternatural speed. Severus was more than awake now. He felt his senses sharpen in a way they hadn’t in years. It felt like a hunt. No doubt she’d led him this way in order to trigger the sense, but he was so out of practice using his vampiric powers that the flood of sensory information he was receiving served only to muddle him.

“Here. You smell it?” she hissed as soon as they emerged from the dungeons. Severus didn’t, though he tried. They stalked the corridor, sniffing, but besides being overwhelming, none of the scents were especially new, and Severus was becoming frustrated.  

“Loraina, why don’t you just tell me-”

“This way!” she said, setting off like a bloodhound with Severus following behind like an untrained puppy.

The scent she followed, however, grew more distinct as they travelled, and he took up the thread himself, soon almost outpacing her. Severus felt his heart sink steadily as they chased it to a wall hanging not far from Lupin’s old quarters where they slowed, considering the thing with trepidation. There was no murky funk of wolf-fur here, though what Severus smelled was just as familiar and stomach churning.  

“No,” he whispered to himself, reaching almost reluctantly to draw the curtain aside and step into the small hidden space behind it. His senses were still heightened and woven between layers of lust, old and new, was the distinct scent he’d mused over in his laboratory earlier that evening. “No,” he repeated, increasingly horrified.

“Yes,” she said, stepping in behind him and examining the alcove with a small, amused smile. “Little Harry is coming out of his shell and cashing in those good looks of his, finally.” She seemed almost approving, and Severus wanted to shake her. Did she not understand what a disaster this was?   

“I have to speak to the Headmaster,” he muttered, staring at the small, semi-circular couch and trying very hard not to imagine what had recently happened there. Mostly, he simply needed to leave the place. He was inundated by scents and confused by the emotions they inspired. It had been so long since he’d smelled any of them personally that they seemed almost alien, and beneath a mild and unwelcome arousal was a baffling sense of betrayal.  

“Cosy place, this,” Loraina commented, much more at ease. “Just dripping with sex. Breathe that in, my love,” she purred, doing so herself. Her pupils were so large they pushed the pale blue of her irises to an almost invisible border around them. Severus had no doubt his looked much the same. She turned them to Severus and her every gesture was predatory.

“Loraina,” Severus objected, taking a small, unsteady step back from her only to collide with the cushioned sofa.

“It’s done, my love. He won’t be injuring things further tonight. There’s no rush,” she said softly, somehow closer without seeming to have moved. “This place is just perfect for a tumble.” Severus shook his head, unable to answer, and she pouted. “Why won’t you play with me, Severus?” she said almost whingingly. “A bit of a snog doesn’t mean we’re engaged,” she reasoned, running a hand lightly down his shirtsleeve which gleamed an uncustomary white in the shadowed recess.  

Severus took her carefully by the wrist and gently removed her touch from his arm.

“Loraina, I can’t,” he said but with difficulty. It was not lost on him that the last time he’d known the scents they steeped in was with her. And though he’d succeeded in keeping them at bay all term, he was overwhelmed now with sudden memories of his one-time need for her; and his grief when he’d had to relinquish it.  

“Why?” she argued gently. She didn’t reach to touch him again, but she did not surrender any space.

“We aren’t…” he began feebly, pulling his gaze reluctantly from the curve of her breast beneath her blouse and banishing the tingle in his palm as it remembered the feel of it. He had to remind himself to breathe.   

“I know we aren’t, love,” she whispered cajolingly. “It’s just fun. Casual,” she shrugged, slinking closer. But he shook his head at her sadly.

He hadn’t been a sexual being in a long time, and the prospect seemed more intimidating than exciting. Besides, he could not afford this. She was a tempting poison, like the syrup of hellebore that Harry had looked so longingly at in the lab that first night. He dared not even taste it lest he succumb completely and to his unquestionable ruin. When she realised he would not be swayed, her seduction faltered and she considered him with a mournful fondness.

“Of course,” she whispered with a sad smile. “You don’t go in for casual, do you? You have always been all or nothing. And you want nothing of me.” She stopped trying to block his escape and dropped to a seat on the couch with a sigh.

Seeing her slumped dejectedly on the couch, Severus’ arousal abruptly died and the scents around him turned suddenly to stink. He’d known, the instant Albus had told him that he was bringing her to Hogwarts, that this moment was inevitable. It seemed cruel, forcing them to grieve once more for what had been and could never be again. For all her flirting, they both knew she didn’t go in for casual, either. Especially not when it came to Severus. She simply was hoping to take what she could get, and Severus had nothing to offer her.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, taking a tentative step toward the curtain.

“Are you?” It had been spoken softly, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. She did not expect a response. She looked away from him as if to ask what was taking him so long to leave.

Severus only just resisted the urge to reach for her before he practically stumbled from the alcove. The curtain smothered the intoxicating reek from within and the air of the corridor seemed comparatively crisp and sweet. Severus’ head cleared and the import of the situation returned to him. He glanced back at the alcove only briefly before turning toward the Headmaster’s office and setting off as quickly as his wounded heart would allow.  

He roused Albus more easily and respectfully than Loraina had done to him before. The man admitted the grave Potions Master to his rooms without question, gesturing to a chair which Severus refused, preferring to pace.

“Albus, we have a problem,” he advised apologetically. “Taking away his cloak did not stop him from roaming, and his new destination is more dangerous than the last.”

The Headmaster sighed and took the seat he’d offered Severus. “What have you seen?” he asked as if dreading the answer.

“Seen? Nothing,” said Severus. “Smelled?” he amended with a meaningful lift of his eyebrows.

Albus was clearly less than pleased and beyond weary. “Perhaps we should set a watch on the Tower,” he proposed, more to himself than to his guest. Severus stopped pacing and stared at him.

“Perhaps we should simply _tell_ the boy,” he said.

They’d had this conversation just that Summer before Harry had arrived at Grimmauld Place; and at the time, Severus had argued against telling the young man about the chastity spell that had been cast on him, thinking he may rebel in disastrous fashion. Severus had been overruled then, but the events in Surrey had postponed the revelation and forced them to reevaluate.   

Albus shook his head immediately at the suggestion. “You told me yourself he’s unstable,” he pointed out. “Do you imagine this information will steady him? Or rather send him spiralling even further beyond our reach? I fear the incident with Remus has already tipped the balance too far out of our favour.”

“I’ve been working with him,” Severus countered. “He’s always been unpredictable, but that does not mean we can avoid telling him these things forever. Besides, he’s made fine progress in grounding himself. Perhaps if we can monitor him closely enough afterwards…” He trailed off as the depth of their difficulty dawned on him. Harry had taken to Severus’ exercises with vigour, but that very enthusiasm betrayed the volatility of his emotional state and so his susceptibility to the Dark Lord’s intrusion.  

“Is he still wearing Remus’ sweater?” Albus asked significantly. The two stared at each other in tense silence for a prolonged moment before Severus puffed out a sigh. It would not be pretty, but they would handle the fallout, regardless. They had no choice.

“He’s sensitive at the moment, granted,” Severus argued, becoming more agitated at the complexity of the situation but also more determined to overcome it, “but I don’t see how this information would be that unsettling. So he can’t snog his boyfriend behind a curtain in the East corridor anymore! What exactly is there to be upset about?” he grumbled, pacing again.

“The impact of the glamour we cast is far further reaching than that, Severus.”

“How much further?” Severus demanded as if he doubted it was truly relevant.

Albus, however, was suddenly solemn; enough so that Severus’ pacing slowed to an apprehensive halt. “We didn’t really know until Remus went to Surrey to collect Harry’s things,” the Headmaster confessed.

Severus was confused and took a cautious seat in the chair across from the man. Albus looked guilt-ridden, and it did not bode well.

“Harry was not well treated by his relatives, Severus,” he began reluctantly. “In fact, he was blatantly mistreated. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the extent of it, but it was most likely a result of the strength of the spell we cast before we left him in their care. These are people who had never been exposed to any sort of magical influence,” he explained. “We are more sensitive to magical effects in some ways, better able to recognize the presence of it, but in others we are inured. I know we all felt the potency of the chastity spell at the time it was cast, but we did not appreciate its effects on Muggles. The spell made Harry repellant to them, and his family was never able to bond with him; or so I suspect. Harry is free of them now, but I am concerned about the impact the truth will have on him once he realizes our responsibility in the unpleasantness of his life before Hogwarts. It will hardly foster trust.”

So that was why they'd delayed telling him. Severus remembered hearing that Harry’s life with his adoptive family was less than rosy but hadn’t given it much thought at the time. He did so now, and his stomach soured. He could not help but recall his own childhood. Though, surely the young man had not faced anything approaching Severus’ experience.

“Many children are raised by those who do not love them, Albus,” he contended. “If he can be made to understand it was for his own safety,” he began, but a look from Albus withered the rest of his argument on his tongue. It had been half-hearted, anyway. “If he continues on this path,” Severus warned instead, “one of the last remaining safeguards we placed will fail and Harry will be more vulnerable than ever to the Dark Lord.”

“Let me consider the matter,” Albus hedged. “It isn’t as if he’s going to lose his virginity tomorrow. This is all new to him,” he shrugged. Severus was left at a loss by the man’s nonchalance toward the matter. As hawkishly as he’d guarded Harry’s purity all this time, he now seemed more concerned with staying in the young man’s good graces than with ensuring Harry’s armour remained in place.  

“It was far more than a kiss, Albus,” Severus advised. The Headmaster shifted uncomfortably but did not respond. If telling the boy the truth was not an option, there had to be something else they could do.

“I’ll just seal up the niche they use,” Severus proposed. He looked forward to it, in fact. Forget magic. He may close it with brick and mortar.

“Then they would merely find somewhere else, Severus. You know this,” Albus replied wearily. “I learned long ago we will never prevent adolescents from being adolescents. Besides, it’s part of growing up. Better they do what they do where we know where they are.”

“Well, he still attends detention,” Severus pointed out, more perturbed than comforted to realise he now knew where Harry was ‘growing up’. “I’ll simply keep him occupied for as long as possible tomorrow night,” he grumbled. Anything to keep Harry out of that blasted alcove. The thought of him there made Severus angrier each time it occurred to him.    

“I’m in agreement that we _must_ prevent him from risking the magic in place, but, Severus, we cannot punish him for his impulses.”

“I’m not,” Severus said as if offended by the insinuation. “I’m punishing him for breaking Draco’s nose. He hasn’t been made to properly rue it, yet.” Though, Severus would see to it he did.   

Albus did not fight him further on the matter. “Very well,” he acceded. “I know Rainey keeps an eye on him. Have her continue to do so,” he said, rising to his feet to indicate their meeting was over.

Severus left the old man to his remaining rest and returned to his quarters. He did not know where Loraina was but thought it best to give her her space. He could always speak with her later. But Severus knew he would sleep no more that night. He paced the lab instead, replaying his conversation with the Headmaster in his mind and growing increasingly agitated by what he’d learned until he finally stomped back up the stair and snatched up his floo powder.        

Lupin was not difficult to rouse at Grimmauld Place. Though he obviously hadn't been sleeping, he seemed less than happy about being dragged out of bed. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed by dark circles beneath. His sandy waves were dishevelled by more than failed slumber. He looked like Hell, frankly. Severus wondered if it was due more to the situation with Harry or to the imminent Full moon.

“Severus?” he asked apprehensively. “It’s 2 o’clock in the morning,” he pointed out, as if to say Harry had better be dying or else he would be severely put out by the summons.  

Severus wished the hearth was connected for more than just communication. He didn’t like having this conversation this way and would have preferred to step into the sitting room with the werewolf; which had to be a first.

“Albus says the Muggles mistreated the boy,” he began almost accusingly. “Did you know about this?”

Lupin’s scowl eased and he looked hangdog and exhausted. “Not at the time, no,” he confessed softly. “Well. We rather recently found out they were unpleasant and prejudiced against our kind, and we made it known at the beginning of last Summer, in no uncertain terms, that they were to continue their abuse at their own peril. But we had no idea it was as severe as it was or that it had gone on for so long.”

“And just whenwere you made aware?” Severus asked scathingly. Remus took no affront at Severus’ tone, but he did become instantly more morose.

“When I went to Surrey on his birthday. Harry’s uncle was burning his trunk when we arrived, ranting about how he should never have let the boy out of the cupboard.” Lupin sighed and took a seat on the couch before the hearth. “Apparently, they’d had him living in a cupboard under the stairs,” he said as if the memory of the discovery made him ache. “For years, Severus. There was a lock on the outside. I saw it with my own eyes,” he said, looking close to tears. “And it wasn’t that they didn’t have the room. Until Harry was twelve, the extra bedroom upstairs was used to store his cousin’s additional belongings, as he had so many they would not all fit in his own bedroom,” he sneered, disgusted. “And Harry had nothing. They didn’t even buy him clothes,” he told Severus, his expression seeming to ask how such monsters could even exist. “They forced him to wear the hand-me-downs of a boy almost twice his size and much better fed. He was treated no better than a house elf at Malfoy Manor,” he finished, laying his head in his hands.

Severus found he could not respond for quite some time while he attempted to process this. He’d never suspected. Harry had given them no reason to. They both seemed to take a moment to reflect on the fact that their shining young hero of the Quidditch pitch, who was so often spied joking with his classmates at the Gryffindor table during meals or happily gallivanting through Hogsmeade, had spent most of his life in baggy rags, locked in a cupboard, and treated as an abomination.

“And then he was later blithely informed that the fate of the world rested on his shoulders,” Severus muttered ruefully. Albus was right. Telling the boy of the circumstances surrounding his upbringing could prove disastrous. “If I were him, I might have been inclined to let the world burn.”

“Me, as well,” Lupin agreed. “That’s why he’s better than we are,” he added quietly.

Severus met the man’s sad stare and felt he really must concede the fact. His own childhood had ruined him, made him too distrustful of others to form any significant friendships at school. It had inspired a deep bitterness that showed in his every interaction and fueled the taunting he’d experienced from others. Even when the occasional classmate had reached out or tried to befriend him, Severus had rejected them, questioning their motives. Loraina had been the sole exception, and that was simply because she had refused to be denied. It seemed a miracle Harry’s spirit had survived well enough to allow for the openness he exhibited. The most cynical parts of Severus muttered that this made the boy a fool, given his prior experience of the world; as though Harry never learned from the past. But no one could deny he was better for it, seemingly unwise or not. Otherwise, Severus would never have bridged their divide as well as he’d been able thus far. By all accounts, the young man had very little reason to trust him, and the fact that he now appeared to was almost disquieting. Severus could only hope Harry’s forgiving nature would not extend to those who truly wished him harm.      

Severus couldn’t stop contemplating the Dursleys’ actions, comparing and contrasting the young man’s experiences at home with the ever unfolding events at school, and thinking of how the burden of one must have chased Harry into the other. His relatives’ household had been meant to be a sanctuary for Harry against the pressures of being the chosen one, but it had been anything but.

"Tell me where the bastards live,” Severus growled, suddenly angry. “I'm going to go murder them."

“Severus,” Lupin sighed, “they’ve just lost their son.”

“Serves them bloody right!” Severus spat.

“ _Severus_ ,” Lupin admonished with a disapproving scowl.

“They’ve no business with children, theirs or otherwise,” Severus insisted.

“The glamour-”

“Is no excuse!”

“You’ve never treated him much better,” Lupin pointed out quietly.

Severus’ temper was instantaneously doused by guilt. He was sharply reminded of his own harsh treatment of the young man in the past and felt mildly ill to think he could be lumped in with such arseholes in Harry’s understanding. Of course, it was this, as much as what Harry’s relatives had done, that fueled Severus’ ire for them, he realised. He didn’t like the recognition. His new obsession with Harry’s well-being made his own culpability unbearable.

His anger flared back to life with a vengeance, and Severus glared at Lupin. The man simply returned it with mild but unyielding accusation. But Severus had nothing to say in his own defence, and so he abruptly withdrew from the hearth and stormed back to his lab. He was too heartsore to pace, though, and he threw himself back down on his cot where he brooded.

For the first time in his life, Severus carefully considered Harry as 'The Chosen One'. Not as the spoiled, celebrity spawn of his arch-nemesis who made Severus’ life as a double agent perpetually difficult, but as the boy who had been labeled, without his knowledge or consent, as the saviour of the world and then smothered in magics to preserve him for the moment he would risk his life for all of them. Severus considered the sacrifices Harry had made already and those he would be asked to make in future. And for what? The young man owed them nothing.

Because of them (or perhaps more accurately, because of Severus) he grew up unloved and tormented. Even in his own interminable hell under the threat of his father’s frequent wrath, Severus had had his mother. Their moments together had been stolen and rushed, had been too short and too uneasy, but Severus had indeed known love. He had been shown kindness, however seldom.

Had Harry? Or had he languished in his cupboard as a child, truly believing he was the affront to nature his family considered him to be? Severus knew what it was to be hated for having magical blood. The elder Snape had attempted to beat it out of him for years; and when he found he couldn’t, he’d beaten Severus’ mother for burdening him with a freak of a son. And Severus had been powerless to protect either of them, though it had never stopped him trying. Severus was well acquainted with locked doors, as well. He had spent many hours behind his own as a boy. His locks, however, had always been thrown to keep his father out, not to keep Severus in. Had Harry felt the same sense of sanctuary behind his door or had it simply been a prison?

Harry’s constant defiance was cast in clearer perspective suddenly. Severus recognised it now. It was not the pouting objections of a pampered boy. It was the ingrained, reflexive defence of one accustomed to chronic battle with authority and his surroundings. Severus had never before considered the two of them kindred spirits in any way. The young man was handsome and relatively popular. He had means and friends, was athletic rather than cerebral. He was actively social. But there was a reason the others misunderstood his needs. There was a reason Severus alone was so adept at intuiting them. No one else they knew had come from what they two had come from. And Severus almost could not bear this sudden sympathy.

Of course, Harry had become attached to Lupin. Of course, he even grasped at the paltry comfort Severus himself offered. Harry had to be absolutely starved for it, especially after Granger’s estrangement. It was simply a shame that the addition of pubescent hormones had ruined his relationship with the werewolf. Severus wasn’t sure he could show Harry anything approaching the same level of affection, neither did he feel inclined to try, and Harry certainly wouldn't look for it from the Potions Master, anyway. And so, Harry was seeking it elsewhere, Severus thought darkly. In shadowed cubbies with random boys.

 _Gods_. _Why did he have to be gay?_ The rules were all different. Severus knew only too well the kind of ridicule such a thing would open him to, founded or not. It would only result in more stress, more secrets. More abuse. All for a moment of intimacy. One which Harry deserved. And one which they would eventually have to tell him was not allowed.

No matter how well-deserved, the thought of Harry in the alcove made Severus’ blood boil. He was inordinately bothered by it. Despite himself, he could not stop picturing Harry there, wrapped in some other boy’s arms; and Severus felt his fangs extend, he was so murderous at the idea. There was too much at stake! Severus had spent miserable decades actively working against the monster they were told only Harry could defeat.

His situation was heartbreaking, and the injustice was maddening, but Harry could _not_ be allowed to visit the alcove again. Even if Severus had to see to it personally.

 

   


	32. I Am Surprised with an Uncouth Fear

**Before: Severus**

Loraina was nowhere to be found the next day. Being a Sunday, he couldn’t even corner her in her classroom. He understood her scarcity, he only hoped her obsession with Harry persisted without Severus having to ask it to on the Headmaster’s behalf. It was inconvenient, but it was the least of his annoyances.

Severus didn’t care for the tenderness that had woken in him the night before. It was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He much preferred the vexation he felt when considering the possibility that years of planning and preparation might be wasted for a quickie in the East Corridor; something the boy would, no doubt, ultimately regret anyway. Severus spent the entire day nursing this irritation until, by the time Harry arrived for detention, he was properly cross.

He answered Harry’s knock so quickly the young man’s hand was still raised when Severus jerked open the door. He could smell the new contrast in Harry’s blood instantly. As discouraging as that was in context, the worst part was the fact that the nuance made Severus’ mouth water. Harry stood rigid and uncomfortable as the Potions Master leaned in to analyse it further.  

“ _What?_ ” Harry asked, annoyed, but Severus only snorted to expel the scent from his nostrils and stepped aside to allow him entrance. Harry gave him a disgruntled, sideways glance as he passed but didn't comment.

Severus followed Harry to the lab filled with fresh conflict. With few exceptions, virgins were a boring bunch; they tended to be unadulterated in more ways than one and so smelled sickly sweet. But Harry’s life force was complex. His sixteen years had already been as eventful as some people’s whole lives and this had always salted the syrup of his blood. Now it possessed yet another dimension. Bloody hell, Severus had only _just_ become accustomed to the siren call of it, and now it simply sang louder! Not only that, but Severus would have to be locked in close quarters with it for the next few hours. It was a test of endurance he did not look forward to.

Severus set Harry's tub of washing down by the sink with a thump. Though it was already twice as full as usual since he'd missed the previous day's detention, it didn’t seem like nearly enough to keep the young man occupied until his lover gave up on him and wandered off. Severus flooed to his classroom and collected the most grime-filled cauldrons he could find. When he saw them, Harry ran a hand over his face and groaned.

“Have I done something to piss you off?”

Severus would have enjoyed nothing more than to enumerate Harry’s many sins but, since he could not, he simply reflected the young man’s peevishness back at him.

“I don't know, Harry. Would you like to tell me just what you've been doing lately? I'm sure I can find something to disapprove of.” Then he swept past the young man and stationed himself at his work table to bottle the new batch of Substisanguinus. Tonight, more than most, he needed to work.

Harry scowled at him for a long moment, and Severus almost hoped he’d comment. A tongue-lashing was building that begged an excuse to escape. But in the end, Harry simply turned to his tub, snatching up his tools and attacking a cauldron with them. It was rubbish as meditation went, and Severus was tempted to scold him, but it was more than adequate as both punishment and delay. Severus elected to ignore the blatant disregard of purpose and went about funnelling doses into phials.

Though the exercise should have been soothing, he found he begrudged the medicine for the first time in ages. What his body craved (and craved urgently) was scrubbing cauldrons across the room from him; and faced with that temptation, his precious potion seemed a grossly inadequate substitute. Perhaps if Loraina invited him to hunt again later, he’d take her up on her offer. Harry’s proximity was awakening a long-dormant appetite. Severus focused on his task, falling finally into a precarious rhythm, trying not to reflect on how like blood the concoction looked, even though the air was almost thick enough with Harry’s scent to drink.    

“So which potion is that, then?”

Severus’ hand faltered, but he managed not to spill. Though it had lacked any animosity, questions were usually consigned to the beginning of detention, and Severus was disconcerted by the unexpected interruption of his already tenuous concentration.

“None of your business,” he replied curtly, not bothering to look away from his work to indicate Harry shouldn’t either.

“It's the one you make for Cobbleshot, isn't it?”

It wasn’t a question. Severus snapped a narrowed gaze at the young man. Harry’s expression was guileless as he brushed out a flask, but they both knew the comment wasn’t innocent.

“What's it called?” he persisted mildly. As if he hadn’t already worked it out. The pretence chafed Severus’ already worn nerves.

“What part of none of your bloody business didn't you understand, Potter?” Severus replied acidly. The cat was out of the bag, so there was no sense in trying to hide the concoction, but he had no intention of discussing the matter, either. He held the phial he worked on to the light to measure the dose before stoppering it. Severus filled two more phials in short order, and Harry, though he still swiped distractedly at the beaker in his hand, watched Severus’ every move.

“You aren't working properly, by the way,” the man scolded.

Instead of taking the hint and resuming his chore, though, Harry stopped working altogether. His sigh was so disproportionately weary for someone of his age, the sound of it stilled Severus’ hand and he felt his irritation soften around the edges.

It wasn’t Harry’s doing, after all. Not directly. The young man wasn’t to know, yet, what he’d done to elicit it. Harry was simply stumbling through the obstacle course that was his life, doing the best he could, grasping happiness where he could find it. Of course, the thought of Harry grasping things in the alcove kept Severus from softening completely. Harry’s dejection was transient, though. After a moment, he took up his tools again. His pace was measured, and Severus assumed he was finally working as intended. In fact, the Potions Master felt a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing he’d given Harry that gift, in thinking Harry understood its value.  

“Hermione and I had another fight today,” Harry said then, just as if Severus had asked.

Severus huffed. So much for appreciating gifts. Disgruntled, Severus turned back to his own work without answer, but Harry continued despite the snub.

“It just really sucks because we'd only made up last night. And it really felt like we were okay again, y'know? But then we were at each other's throats again this morning.”

“Mr. Potter,” Severus sighed, laying aside his tools. Would he really have to explain that counselling was not his forte? Merlin’s sake, that’s what the bloody meditation was _for_. He hesitated in saying so, though. Severus couldn’t possibly be Harry’s desired confidant, and if the young man was desperate enough for discourse that he would seek it from his Potions Master, Severus really saw no other option but to entertain him. “Again?” he answered uncomfortably. “I wasn't aware you'd been quarrelling,” he added, taking up his ladle once more. Severus was clearly not adept at casual conversation, but Harry needed no other encouragement.

“Oh, yeah,” he said with a wry grin as he chose a new flask to clean. “Ever since I caught her about to snog Draco Malfoy, we haven't gotten on well at all.”

The comment had been delivered so nonchalantly, but Severus’ heart stuttered in his chest, and he spilled some of the potion he was funnelling into his phial as his eyes cut to Harry.

“Say that again,” he demanded. Surely he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d just heard.

“Draco and Hermione,” Harry confirmed, and Severus’ stuttering heart began a slow and nauseating descent into the pit of his stomach. “They're dating. Or something. Haven't you seen them in the Great Hall?”

_Draco and Hermione. They’re dating._

The words seemed to hang in the air like physical things that lowered at him, and Severus found he couldn’t immediately make rational sense of them.

“No. I haven't been on duty for some time,” Severus answered distractedly. “I've had other obligations.”

Though, he knew. Even if his mind wanted so desperately to reject its import, Severus knew what this news meant. Try as he might, he could think of no innocent catalyst for this turn of events. Draco might have been toeing the line recently, but a few weeks as the Slytherin House underdog could not possibly cure him of his prejudices. And his prejudice against the Granger girl was practically fathomless. Severus wracked his brain. He’d neglected Draco lately due to his preoccupation with Harry. Had he really not seen those two together? Had he missed some other blatant warning?

“Hey. You okay?” Harry asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

Severus woke from his thoughts and stared at the young man as time gradually began moving at a regular pace again, as the urgency of the situation stirred Severus’ blood.

“How long?” he demanded, startling Harry with his sudden intensity.

“Officially?” Harry said, resting his hip against the sink and crossing his arms while he considered as if immune to the pressing nature of the inquiry. “Little over a week? But apparently, they'd been working up to it since term started,” he added, distaste thick in his voice.

 _Since term started._ That was important. Severus didn’t know what it meant except that it could be nothing good. He wiped his hands hurriedly on a towel and tossed it to the floor, sweeping around the table and past Harry, heading for the door. Severus’ memory of the attack on the Hogwarts Express was dim, considering he’d left it in Albus’ Pensieve. He’d have to go retrieve it.

“I must speak with the Headmaster,” he advised, waiting at the foot of the stairs for Harry to follow so he could floo him to Gryffindor. But the young man simply stood at the sink looking puzzled.

“What are you doing?” Severus demanded impatiently. “Detention is over. _Get out_.”

Harry seemed surprised. “What about-?” he said, gesturing to the tub of dirty glass.

“ _Leave_ it,” Severus said through clenched teeth, starting up the stairs with Harry rushing to follow. “Go somewhere. Anywhere. Just _get out_.” But as soon as he'd said it, he paused and suddenly turned back to the young man.

What in hell was he saying? Fuck. It was even earlier in the evening than he usually dismissed him. Severus had been meant to occupy him. But he _had_ to go, and he couldn’t very well lock Harry in the lab until he came back.

“ _No,_ ” he amended. “Go to your Dormitory. Stay there.” Then, before he could argue, Severus veritably shoved Harry through the hearth before tossing in a second handful of powder for himself.


	33. To Prove Thou Hast a True-Divining Heart

**Before: Severus**

Flooing directly to the Headmaster’s office uninvited was rude, but the situation was urgent. Severus announced his arrival as he stepped from the hearth, but when no reply was forthcoming, he turned immediately to the cabinet containing the Headmaster’s Pensieve and threw open the doors. A shimmering memory swam like oil on the Pensieve’s surface. Severus fished it from the basin with the tip of his wand and, with no hesitation whatsoever, lowered its tail into his temple. But instead of the sudden sharpening of his recollection of the attack on the Hogwarts Express, Severus was unexpectedly yanked out of time and place and self.

The burdens he carried changed shape and texture, as did his clothing and surroundings. There was the scent of tea, and it did not invoke the taste of watered chalk. His tongue anticipated sweetness. And his heart: it was full to bursting but at war with itself. There was so much hope! Sadness and resignation but also hope and gratitude; and Severus was still enough himself to be overwhelmed by the alienness of these emotions.  

Then, he was just Remus.

_The knock on his door makes him feel instantly both relieved and anxious. It has been a struggle, especially lately, to keep his interactions with the young man sufficiently personal but also strictly appropriate. Sometimes the line is blurred, and the difference between what is expected and what is disallowed is reliant on the secret subtext of his heart. It keeps him up at night. It tortures even his dreams: this unutterable desire, this simultaneous longing for and aversion to the young man’s touch. But it is a cross he is willing to bear, a tightrope he enthusiastically walks, in order to keep his ward whole in this time of sundering and loss._

_“I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming tonight,” Remus remarks with a smile when he opens the door. Harry’s disembodied head peeks from atop his invisibility cloak. Remus is becoming inured to the sight. The boy’s intense expression, however, is another matter. Remus finds he cannot analyse it without prejudice. He knows what he wishes it to mean, but also that it cannot possibly mean such a thing. It makes Remus shiver, but he brushes it off and gestures the young man into the room._

_“Come in, the tea's ready,” he says warmly, bending to pour. But when Remus turns back to him to verify how the youth will take it, he finds Harry has not followed him to the sofa as usual. Something is not right. Remus straightens slowly, and his first impulse is concern. He cannot be with the young man every waking moment, no matter how he’d like to, and each hour they are apart is an opportunity for the unexpected to dismantle the progress the two of them make here each night. Harry doesn’t seem distressed, though. He is charged somehow but not upset._

_Remus waits patiently for Harry to decide to either enter or take his leave, to explain this strange mood or else come and sit down and let Remus comfort him with his presence, at least. Harry does not leave the door, however. His body language is impossible to read as all but his head is invisible, but his expression ignites Remus’ overeager imagination, and the man struggles to ignore the suspected sense that it is not only his own heart that hammers._

_“Harry?” he says uncertainly. He doesn’t know what else to do but to wrap the youth in an embrace to soothe him, but a suspicion beyond his own dishonourable motivations stays him. “Are you alright? What-?”_

_Before he can finish the question, Harry’s cloak falls from his shoulders. It seems to do so in slow motion. The shock he feels on seeing Harry’s bare chest showing from between the lapels of his school robes bleeds into a confused numbness as the fabric continues to fall, exposing inch after inch of naked skin. Harry’s expression is no longer ambiguous. If Remus hadn’t been so busy denying his own desire, it might never have been._

_Still, he fights the revelation. “Harry, I don't understand,” he says shakily, wetting his lips. “Has something happened? Are you okay?” Despite himself, his eyes fall to the feast laid out before him. Horror and hunger battle in him as the young man approaches, even though Remus wards him off with an outstretched hand._

_He’d thought he was tortured before, but it is nothing compared to this. His wish is being granted, but Remus is unable to accept it. Magic aside, despite the surety in his expression - the challenge in it - Harry cannot know what he is suggesting. He cannot understand what it means to offer himself in this way. Still, when he takes hold of Remus’ wrist, the man does not have the strength of will to prevent it. When Harry presses Remus’ hand to the bare flesh over the young man’s heart and releases it, Remus doesn’t even have the strength to let it fall away._

With monumental effort, Severus wrenched the memory from his temple. It made him reel, and he caught the Pensieve’s pedestal to support himself just as his knees began to give way. He’d realised immediately that the memory was not his and had managed not to release it completely into his mind. But despite that, despite that he had not watched it to its end, it was still there. All of it. Harry’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss; the sweetness of his mouth; the heat of his skin; it was all there and would not be banished. Severus’ answering desire, which was somehow both his own and not at the same time, pulsed uncomfortably between his legs.  

He was disoriented, but it went far beyond the sudden shift in scenery, beyond the confusion of being another person for a time. Severus was disconcerted, not by all the ways in which Lupin’s thoughts and feelings and reactions had been alien, but rather by all the ways they were not. In fact, the familiarity was staggering. Severus realised, with a suddenness that was almost violent, that he’d felt the same desire for Harry himself before. He had felt the same impulses toward him, even the same affection. He’d simply never accepted their true nature. He’d never conceived that he could feel such things for such a person.

Severus felt he might be sick. He pushed himself back from the pedestal, returning the memory to the basin with a shaking hand, and looked up to find Albus standing quietly before him. Severus flushed with shame and embarrassment before he realised that the old man could not read his mind. He could not know the revelation Severus had just weathered or understand how shattering it had been. Regardless, Severus had invaded the man’s private quarters and helped himself to his private belongings. It had not been his intention to trespass to this degree, but that did not negate his crime.

Albus did not seem angry with him, however. His expression was open if a little sad.

“Why?” Severus finally managed to ask. “Why did you not stop it?” His voice was shaky and his tone almost condemning, as if this catastrophe was the Headmaster’s fault. Though really, even if he had intervened, the damage would already have been done.

Albus shrugged. “You seemed so convinced of Remus’ guilt. This is not the way I would have chosen to assuage your suspicions, but I trust it has served that purpose nonetheless.”

Severus stared at the Headmaster without seeing him. _Lupin’s guilt_. Yes, he had been critical of the werewolf; ironic when considering that all along Severus had committed the same sins. He merely had not been honest with himself about them, which seemed to make Severus’ transgressions even worse.

 _Gods_. Reflecting on it, he realised his offence had not been at the immorality of Lupin’s suspected actions. Not entirely.

He had been... _jealous_.

“It was an accident,” Severus felt suddenly compelled to confess. “I thought it was mine, the memory I’d left of the attack,” he stammered.

“I suspected as much,” Albus nodded. “Though, I have that one here,” he said, pulling a phial from his robe pocket. “I removed it in order to view Remus’.”

Severus stared at the glass tube in the Headmaster’s hand and slowly recalled why he had sought its contents. But as urgent as that matter had seemed when he’d arrived, he was having difficulty banishing the echoes of what had just happened.  

“I didn’t even know this was possible,” he admitted, shuffling dazedly over to the nearest chair and sinking into it. “What is the purpose of the Pensieve if one can insert a memory directly?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Albus said with mild amusement, eyeing the state of him as he settled in behind his desk. “So few are aware that memories can be shared, even through the Pensieve. The art has been forgotten, and perhaps that is fortunate. Quite beside the invasive intimacy of appropriating another’s thoughts and feelings, doing so too often is damaging to the viewer. You still haven’t recovered from your brief time as Remus Lupin, even though you held the memory in your mind for a matter of mere seconds. Imagine repeating the experience often or for extended periods of time. Practitioners would often go mad, would lose their sense of self, become shells that merely waited to be filled with another’s consciousness. For those of us who require it, however, the Pensieve makes the practice safe and is simply more practical. For one, it allows us to move about the memory, catching details the memory’s originator may have missed. And viewing a stream of images is a far lesser violation of privacy than momentarily becoming another person.”

Severus nodded his understanding but had no response. He was dumbstruck by the experience, which seemed to assault him in waves. Between brief moments of lucidity, he almost felt as if he were indeed still Remus Lupin. It was not something one shook off easily. The man was obnoxiously emotional. He invited feeling where Severus had always abstained, whenever possible. And his necessary rejection of Harry’s advances, and the hurt that that had caused the young man, had devastated Lupin. The man’s heartbreak was so resounding, Severus thought he might feel the shadow of it for the rest of his life.

He disliked it immensely. He disliked feeling anything but absolute bitterness where that mangy group of Gryffindors was concerned, and so Severus avoided succumbing to empathy for the mongrel by focusing, instead, on Harry.

Severus hadn’t understood how wounded Harry had been by the encounter with his guardian. He’d never bothered to seriously consider that the incident might have been about more than teenage hormones, that his attachment to that blasted cardigan was anything other than youthful sentimentality. It shouldn’t have surprised him, though. The young man craved connection and was compassionate to a fault. The truth remained that there had been so much more than lust in his eyes when he had looked at his mentor. And Lupin had returned that extra something in spades.

Not that lust hadn’t been involved. It had been palpable on both their parts. Severus felt he should be more disturbed by his own previous physical reactions toward the young man, but the lingering residue of Lupin’s made them easier to accept. Before, Severus would have rejected the idea. Vehemently. He generally avoided thinking of homosexuality at all, and he certainly had never entertained the possibility that he could possess similar urges. But living Lupin’s memory and having the advantage of that man’s long-time self-knowledge made it feel almost as though Severus had accepted that part of himself years ago.  

Harder to accept was the object of those feelings. It wasn’t as if Severus had never been attracted to a student before. Anyone who claimed they never saw flowering young adults in a sexual manner was lying. But somehow this was different. This would not be solved by a flask of blood and a few furious wanks. Of course, the very idea was ludicrous. Besides their relationship and age difference, besides the impossibility of the Chosen One ever developing any measure of attraction to his greasy old Potions Master, Severus could never allow an encounter for all the same reasons Lupin had turned the young man away himself.

 _Why was he even thinking about these things?_ What the hell difference did it make, anyway? It wasn’t as if he wanted anything more than…

 _No_. He didn’t even really _want_ that. His body just responded in ways which were inconvenient. He _wanted_ nothing from the young man beyond that he remain safe and whole and fulfil his destiny. Which was why Severus was there in the first place.

“We need to revisit the memory I left with you, Albus,” Severus told him, his sense of urgency returning. It was infectious, and the Headmaster sat forward in his seat. “Harry has told me Draco is pursuing the Granger girl,” he relayed ominously.

Albus was visibly disquieted. Without prompting, he rose from his chair and plucked an empty phial from a group of them on a shelf by the Pensieve, using it to store Remus’ memory in order to replace it with Severus’.

“What do we expect to see?” he asked as the Potions Master moved to join him. Severus was mildly surprised by Albus’ instantaneous acceptance and response.

“What? You aren’t going to lecture me on Draco’s secret goodness and my paranoia?” he asked. “Not caution me against jumping to conclusions?”

“Severus,” Albus admonished impatiently.

Severus grumbled inwardly considering all the previous warnings he’d expressed which had been dismissed or made light of, but he was gratified, as well. For once he was being taken seriously and without question. It was about time someone learned to listen to him. It wasn’t a matter to gloat over, however. Hermione may be in danger, and then ultimately Harry.

“I don't know what he means by it, but this behaviour is not natural,” he said to Albus’ anxious scowl. "Draco may be working alone, but I think it unlikely. Otherwise, his actions would have been more petty and shortsighted. Narcissa has successfully kept Draco from his father since the divorce, at least until seeing him off at the train station; and he could have received no communication here without us being aware. Well, no traditional communication. And the only window he would have had to establish a link with his father would have been during the delay caused by the attack on the Hogwarts Express.”

“You think Lucius was there?”

Severus nodded. “I’ve suspected for some time that Lucius has had support from within the Dark Lord’s inner circle. Otherwise, he would not have managed to remain fugitive for so long. Most likely is Bellatrix. It is entirely possible that the attack was a diversion to allow Draco’s father access to him, which may be one of the reasons she requested I not be involved. She worries that her sister has turned her back on what she believes to be the winning side. As loyal as Bella is to the Dark Lord, Narcissa is dear to her, as is Draco. To her mind, the only reason her sister disavowed the Death Eaters was because of her husband’s disgrace and that if Lucius were to be reinstated to the Dark Lord’s good graces, her sister would take him back and thus be safe when Lord Voldemort triumphs. I have not, however, been able to persuade the Dark Lord of my suspicions. The politics of his court are perilous.”

Albus nodded and withdrew his wand, holding it poised over the basin. “Are you ready?”

Severus quickly drew his own and, together, they touched them to the basin’s surface.

It was strange seeing his own memory as an outsider. But there he was at the moment he had Apparated to the site of the attack, Loraina and the Headmaster materialising beside him. He didn’t have long to reflect on the oddity of it, though. After having cast his leather-winged Patronus, his remembered self sprinted with vampiric speed toward the train, and the memory raked the two men along with him at the edge of the memory’s range. Hopefully, what they sought would be contained within it. They jogged to catch up, reaching Harry and the other Severus just as the man pulled the youth to his feet.

The real Severus slowed at the sight. It was difficult to walk past it without reflecting on it anew. That interaction was the reason he’d left this memory with the Headmaster in the first place. He wondered if the man had viewed it, if he had seen in the young man’s expression what Severus had seen then, and if it had moved him as it had the Potions Master. An echo of that despair had been present in Harry’s expression as Remus had turned his back on him at the foot of Albus’ stairs, as if the rejection had been simply another kind of death. Severus wished he had known at the time. He would have tried harder to muster some kindness toward the young man in the days after. He could not dwell on it, though. Depending on what they found here, Harry was in danger of having to weather yet another loss.

Severus didn’t believe Draco was far enough down the road to damnation to actually harm Hermione, but he knew his father had passed that marker some time ago. For all their sakes, Severus genuinely hoped they would find no sign of the man here, that he was not actually involved. But in his heart, Severus knew better.

He forced himself to look away from the tableau just as Albus called for his attention.

“There,” he said, pointing to a copse of trees near the train on the far side. Lucius could clearly be seen slipping furtively beneath their shadows, and Severus’ heart sank. “The carriage he must have been visiting is regretfully beyond our reach,” Albus lamented, “but you were right, Severus. He was indeed here, and there can be little doubt as to why.”

“He must be found before they can carry out whatever they’ve been scheming,” Severus replied wearily. He did not feel vindicated in having his suspicions confirmed. The implications were too disheartening.

Albus returned to where Severus stood watching himself shove Harry into Loraina’s arms. That had not been well thought through, on reflection, but matters had been urgent at the time. The poor boy seemed so dazed as he was forced to confront the conundrum that was Cobbleshot. Severus watched it with a heavy heart. He knew what heartache awaited that already troubled teen. He feared what more might be coming. It was too much to ask anyone to face, much less one so young. If he could, Severus would willingly be his surrogate. He was accustomed to loss and loneliness already. But as Albus had said before, that was not their fate.

The Headmaster read his regret. “Come, Severus. We have much to do,” he said kindly, placing a hand on Severus’ shoulder to both comfort him and pull him out of the memory. Severus’ lethargy did not leave him on finding himself back in Dumbledore’s office, though, and it was Albus who took the lead in their preparations, rushing to his desk. He returned with Harry’s confiscated cloak. It took a moment for Severus to shake off his melancholy and realise the man was offering it to him.

“Take this. I know you are rather talented in secrecy without it, but you must keep an eye on the dear boy while I am away, and I do not want to burden him with worry should you accidentally be spied. Not until we are sure there is cause.”

“While you are away?” Severus asked, waking finally as Albus returned to his desk to scribble something on parchment. “Where are you going?” he scowled.

“Deliver this to Minerva, let her know she will be looking after things for a short time,” he said, handing Severus the note he’d just written. “I’m going to visit with Narcissa.”

“She does not know where Lucius is,” Severus said, shaking his head. “The Dark Lord had her thoroughly interrogated and Malfoy Manor has been closely watched.”

“I’m confident I can slip in unnoticed,” Albus said, unconcerned, once again at his desk to fill his pockets with Rumdoodles. Severus shook off the absurdity of the Headmaster’s concern over an adequate supply of candy while travelling and clarified.

“My meaning was that if she had had any contact with Lucius, we’d have known before now.”

“I’m not going to question her,” the Headmaster explained. “No, I need a personal effect of Lucius’. I’ve been working on adapting a locator spell. We’ve lost Harry enough times that I thought it might be well useful. But I need an object that belonged to the person being sought for the spell to work.”  

“That’s possible?” Severus asked sceptically.

“We shall see. I’ve yet to test it, but now is as good a time as any,” he said brightly, stepping before the Potions Master one last time on his way out. “Do not despair yet, my friend. We move quickly, but there is every reason to believe we have uncovered the plot in time. See to Harry. I’ll be back with news when I can.”

He waited for Severus’ reluctant nod before Apparating. The Potions Master stared at the suddenly empty space for a long moment as he processed everything. Then he looked down to the items he held, the tasks he’d been assigned, and he mustered his resolve. There would be time later to contemplate Harry’s happiness, or lack thereof. More important, now, was seeing to his physical safety. Severus donned the cloak and stowed the Headmaster’s note in his pocket, moving toward the rotating stair with purposeful strides.


	34. Shall She Live to Betray this Guilt of Ours?

**Now: Remus**

The Forbidden Forest vanished and they found themselves in the sunlit open air of the outer grounds of Hogwarts. Though they were brighter, their surroundings were less vivid than they had been, like an old photograph that had faded to shades of sepia. Indeed, the memory was not a recent one. Remus recognized several of the people he’d attended school with wandering the lawn looking no older than he remembered them being when he was a student.

“Where’s Harry?” he wondered aloud. This was his memory, or else he couldn’t have left it for them, but he was nowhere to be seen.

In answer, Severus pointed to a girl with piecey golden hair in a Slytherin uniform, her arms full of books.

“He’s Loraina,” he explained softly, unable to pull his eyes off her. “He’s living her memory, not viewing it as we are. This memory is now his, but he is not himself at the moment.”

Severus walked over to intercept Rainey and her friend as they strolled across the yard. Remus thought the other girl’s name might have been Farrah, but he’d never spoken to either of them when he was at school.

Remus followed the man but kept his distance. This trip into the Pensieve had been particularly hard on Severus, rendering him in turns livid and terrified and baffled. Remus’ gestures of support had done more harm to his mood than good, however. He decided to simply let Severus be. The man usually had a habit of suppressing his emotions, and letting them run their course, whatever they were, was not the worst that could happen. Remus would help him deal with the aftermath later.

At the moment, Severus appeared to be feeling a host of things, and all of them quieter and more tender than Remus was accustomed to from the man. He stared at the tiny blonde girl before him, taking in her every detail. This was the version of her he had fallen in love with, Remus realised; a girl bright and fresh and fair as a crisp but sunny winter’s day. She bore only a passing resemblance to the women they’d just left behind in the Forest.

She was still there, however, especially in the mischievous twinkle in the young woman's eye as she stopped suddenly and looked down toward the Lake. Remus followed her line of sight to find a young Severus sitting beneath the same tree Remus had led Harry and Hermione to for their picnic, the lone lesson he had provided the young man during Remus’ brief return to Hogwarts four years ago. It seemed almost ironic now that it had been about vampires.

Rainey's companion continued on for a few steps before noticing her friend's wandering focus, and she drew back to her apprehensively.

“Go on ahead to the Common Room,” Rainey told her, shoving her books atop the ones Farrah already carried, much to the girl’s chagrin. “I’ll catch up in a bit.” Rainey had barely spared a glance to her. All her attention was reserved for the black-haired boy by the Lake’s edge.

Farrah huffed a sigh but did not argue. She merely rolled her eyes as she trudged off. Remus got the impression this must be a common occurrence with the two. Rainey paid her friend’s annoyance absolutely no mind. She crept her way across the lawn toward Severus in a way that reminded Remus of a kitten stalking a butterfly, playful but still predatory. The present Severus followed, but his attention was now turned to the teenager under the tree, as well. He drifted after the tip-toeing girl for only a moment before taking a more direct route to himself with Remus close on his heels.

Severus was silent as they waited for her to make her way over, staring down at his younger self almost apologetically. He looked so mournful, Remus almost did not manage to resist the urge to reach out and stroke his back.

He hated seeing such hurt in the man. It made him want to wrap his arms around Severus and whisper to him that he was safe, that he didn't have to be the strong one, that Remus wouldn’t let anything harm him. But of course, he couldn’t really promise that. The pain that plagued him was not the sort of threat Remus could defend against. Severus’ greatest enemy was his past. But Remus desperately wanted the man to understand that Remus would if he could, that he may not be able to slay this foe, but he would provide whatever support Severus required in order to do so himself.

Seeing Severus’ stoic suffering made Remus too frustrated, and so he turned his focus to the young man seated on the grass in front of them instead. The past that Severus rued was this boy’s future. Though in truth, the young man already looked haunted, even without the carelines that punctuated his counterpart’s perpetually consternated expression. The scowl he presently wore would eventually create them.   

Observing him now, Remus realized how little attention he’d paid to Severus while they were in school, though he’d seen him frequently enough. James, in particular, had seemed to enjoy tormenting the boy, and Sirius had been only too eager to join in. Remus had almost always been present for those encounters, but his early objections had fallen on deaf ears; and so most of the time he tried to simply ignore what was happening, occupying himself with anything else at all to avoid seeing exactly how cruel his friends could be to those they didn’t consider friends.

What they did to this young man was exactly the treatment Remus had expected to receive from them after they discovered his secret. Miraculously, they had embraced Remus instead, for which he would be forever grateful. Not only did he have their true friendship, but it also shielded Remus from mistreatment he might otherwise have experienced from others simply by virtue of him being a shy, studious boy who was perpetually bandaged. Without their love and support, Remus could easily have found himself in the same situation as the lonesome and obviously beleaguered boy in front of him. 

In fact, he reminded Remus sharply of himself, as if the two of them were characters in a cautionary tale about the virtues of friendship and the effects of its absence. Severus’ uniform was meticulously neat but somehow still shabby, as though he had done his best to look well kempt despite that his clothes had seen more seasons at Hogwarts than he had. It was an art Remus had perfected during his tenure in Dogtown. The younger Severus seemed to feel the need to compensate for the things he could not control, like the unhealthy sallowness of his skin which he appeared to be trying his best to hide beneath an almost shoulder-length curtain of black hair.

And his complexion wasn’t the only thing he was attempting to hide, Remus observed. How had he never noticed the bruises that stained Severus’ pale cheek? There was more than one and they were of varying age, as if they were often renewed. And the circles beneath his eyes...

The dark crescents were almost a trademark of the man standing beside him, but Remus had supposed them to be a symptom of his vampirism. Apparently, sleep was a stranger to him even before his infection. Tired as he looked, though, the boy’s gaze was sharp as it studied the leaf he held between his long, clever fingers, and his black eyes were clear and intelligent.

His interest seemed so pure somehow. Rainey had said that Severus was the gentler of them, and that most people never saw it as they never bothered to look. But Remus was looking. He’d seen it long before now, but it showed so much more clearly in the boy Severus was. Experience had hardened him, perhaps, but it didn’t come naturally. It was a veneer. Beneath the shell, there was a brilliant, sensitive young man with a secret but vast capacity for selflessness and an eye for details often overlooked. Remus wondered why he examined the thing he held. He wondered what he saw.

That question would have to wait until later, though. Rainey had arrived. The elder Severus watched her approach with his hand pressed over his heart as if to hold it in place as he watched the scene unfold, clearly remembering it well.

Rainey stepped carefully from behind the trunk of the tree at young Severus’ back and crouched to study him, as fascinated by the boy as the boy was fascinated by the mottled green leaf he scrutinized. The younger man’s focus was so intense that he did not notice her voyeurism for some time, but when he did, it startled him. He tossed his leaf aside, either embarrassed to have been caught with it or else feeling he couldn’t afford to concern himself with it now. Indeed, his eyes instinctively darted to either side before returning to the girl as though searching for additional threats and contemplating his options for escape. It broke Remus’ heart to see such mature apprehension in a boy so young. It seemed habitual, like he was all too familiar with persistent danger and how to best to deal with it. It made Remus slightly ill knowing it was his best friends who were likely responsible for the lion’s share of that conditioned response.  

Rainey took a seat on the grass beside Severus and hugged her knees. Remus had no idea what about the boy had caught her attention or what she was trying to accomplish, but her unrelenting stare was unnerving. Though, it was not particularly threatening, and after an uncomfortable moment, the younger Severus seemed to recognise this and his apprehension shifted to confusion, and then eventually to curiosity.

His expression turned contemplative. It one Severus still adopted, and it made the young man appear much older than he was, but there was a note of enthusiasm and wonder in it that was often missing in his older self. This Severus was newer, damaged but not yet broken, and this strangely bold, pretty young woman seemed to intrigue him. He studied her as intently as she studied him, but his look was not doting. He didn’t gaze in awe at her beauty, though Rainey was undeniably lovely here. Hers was a fragile type of beauty, dependent on the effect of the whole and too precariously balanced to weather the hard years that were to come. Those had not yet visited the girl at their feet, however, and she was still a vision. The boy in front of her seemed immune to those charms, though somehow still smitten.

Rainey appeared to recognize this and to be mildly confused by the quality of his returning stare though still flattered. She blushed ever so gently. Then, with a determined set to her brow, she rose to her hands and knees, crawling swiftly in Severus’ direction. The young man’s scowl deepened in alarm, and he realised too late that she had no intention of stopping. He started to scuttle back away from her rapid advance but was caught easily enough by her hand on his collar.

Remus gasped as Rainey pulled Severus, without a word of greeting or explanation, to her lips and kissed him. Remus turned a surprised look to his companion to find him shaking his head fondly at the girl, a sad smile on his lips. The younger Severus, however, hadn’t seemed to yet work out how he felt about this turn of events. He held his hands away from the girl, but she persisted in her unexpected affection, and eventually he surrendered, returning her kiss and letting his hands settle awkwardly onto her shoulders.

Their kiss lasted long enough for Remus’ shock to subside, and once it did, he almost laughed aloud. The whole scenario was preposterous but somehow sweet. It was bizarre in the more most innocent and endearing of ways. Severus noticed Remus’ almost reluctant amusement and nodded in understanding.

“She was always like that,” he explained, still smiling softly. “Arbitrary and impulsive. It used to be thrilling. She was completely unpredictable, and every day was an adventure. I was her complete opposite,” he said, shaking his head as if their union still baffled him. “I was cautious and predictable and almost pathologically methodical. I suppose we balanced each other,” he concluded quietly. “We compensated for what the other lacked.”  

Remus glanced back down at the couple just as their kiss came to an end and Rainey smiled in amusement at Severus’ gobsmacked expression. They still hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

“Did you know each other well at the time?” Remus asked, trying to puzzle out what he was seeing. Severus shook his head.

“I wasn’t even sure of her name,” he confessed.

Remus grinned. “What inspired her to walk over and kiss a complete stranger, I wonder.”

Severus’ smile faded and he shook his head again.

“I suppose we’ll have to ask Harry when we find him,” he said quietly, dousing Remus’ mirth and reminding him of the trouble at hand just as the world around them shifted back to the Forbidden Forest once again. His mood darkened along with their scenery.

This memory sharing was still difficult for Remus to wrap his head around. He’d gathered from Timothy’s screams that doing so included sensory memory. But Harry had lived Severus and Rainey's first kiss, complete with her thoughts and feelings? What some people wouldn’t give for that opportunity. How dangerous could it really be, and was the risk not perhaps sometimes worth it to truly understand another?

Instead of Severus and Rainey, Harry and Rainey were now at their feet, and the former sat up groggily, a confused expression on his face as he took in his surroundings. It took quite a while for his eyes to clear, for him to remember who he was.

“I get why they say it can make you go mad,” Harry murmured, shaking the last of the cobwebs from his head. “Are you sure you want...?”

The look on Rainey's face withered the rest of the question before it could pass his lips. She was not leaving this exchange empty-handed.  
  
“Are you saying you don’t want to see more?” she challenged.  
  
Harry regarded Rainey for a quiet moment.

“Lie down,” he told her.  
  
She settled in with breathless anticipation. Harry closed his eyes, seeming to see the memory clearly before plucking it from his mind. Despite the snarkish way he’d described it earlier, he obviously cherished it. Harry carefully lowered the strand deep into Rainey's temple.

She was not as outwardly reactive as Timothy had been, and Remus couldn’t help but wonder what she was seeing. Harry had never uttered a word about the experience. When they were trying to piece together those nights’ events in their aftermath, Harry had described their encounter with the Malfoys in the Forest in detail, as had Severus. Though, when it came to after, he would only say that he had woken in a cell and that eventually he and Severus had escaped it. Of course, they all _knew_ what more had happened, but they’d been left to guess why and how. Severus had only said that they had saved each other’s life. As time went on and the depth and nature of their relationship became apparent, it was increasingly difficult to tell how literally he’d meant the statement.

Harry allowed the memory to play for quite some time. Remus had no idea just how long it might be, how many of those missing nights it spanned. When he finally lifted it from her mind, Rainey trembled. She looked up at Harry in bewilderment before lifting a hand to her breast, patting herself up and down to reacquaint herself with being her. She sat up shakily. Her eyes cleared much more quickly than Harry’s had, but her scowl remained.

“So,” she said softly. “That is how you knew.”  
  
“Knew?”  
  
“This trick,” she clarified. “Severus did this with the werewolf. No wonder he could see you in that way after.”

At first, Remus didn’t understand what she’d just said. He was certain he’d never done this with Severus. He’d never even heard of it before tonight. Then he recalled what Harry had told Rainey earlier, that he’d learned of it by accident--Severus’, not Harry's--and everything clicked.

He turned a demanding look to the other man, and Severus had the decency to look deeply embarrassed.

“I did not spy intentionally,” he insisted apologetically, heading off Remus’ tirade. “The situation was urgent, but Albus was not present. I had left a memory for him to review and I thought I was reclaiming it.”

The confession left Remus reeling. He had only ever supplied the Headmaster with a single memory. It was one of his most painful and it was without question his most shameful. And Severus hadn’t viewed it. _He had lived it._ He had heard Remus’ innermost thoughts and experienced his every conflicted feeling. He understood just how intently and for how long Remus had lusted after his best friend’s teenage son. _And_ his father before him.

 _Holy Hell_. Not only that, but Severus knew the true reason Remus had turned the boy away in the end. He had glimpsed the loss of Remus’ own virginity and that relationship’s awful ending, not to mention all the shame and degradation in between that had convinced Remus that fulfilling his desire was wrong quite beside the practicality of preserving the protection spell.

The werewolf tasted bile. According to Rainey, Remus’ memory was why Severus was able to overcome whatever he had experienced in his youth. It had allowed Severus to steal the young man’s affection away from Remus, just as Remus had determined to return it. Remus turned away from the other man. He felt violated, as defiled as he’d ever been after his father’s friend crept from his room. Remus bent at the waist and set his hands on his knees, almost certain he would finally be sick. He didn’t hear Severus approach, but he felt his hand settle gently on his back.

“Remus, I apologize,” he began sincerely, but Remus could not hear it now.

“Don’t touch me,” he gasped in between the heaving breaths he pulled into his lungs in a desperate effort not to vomit, though his eyes filled with mournful tears after the man withdrew. Severus had sought to comfort him, had touched him voluntarily and unasked, but Remus couldn't accept his intimacy at the moment, no matter how much he’d craved it or for how long.

“Was it what you wanted?” he heard Harry ask as Remus tried to ignore the tenacious pain in his chest, and he became confused, almost offended by the insensitive question before realizing it had not been addressed to him. Remus swallowed back his sickness and turned to the scene once again, eager for distraction but aggressively avoiding all notice of Severus’ presence.

Rainey shrugged, unusually subdued. “Yes, thank you. Though we may need more practice. I’m certain I saw more than intended.”  
  
“More?”  
  
“He really was that concerned for me when you emerged?” she asked timidly, hugging her legs to her chest. Harry’s eyes widened with comprehension.

Remus suspected he knew what she was referring to, as well. He’d been present when Severus had rushed past them to fall to his knees at her side as she lay unconscious on the grass in the cemetery. Remus disliked remembering. It had been only the second time he had ever glimpsed tenderness in the man, the first having been an hour before in the dungeons when Severus had looked gently on Harry after the young man helped him to his feet. Being reminded of why he first began to fall for Severus so soon after learning of this betrayal by him seemed to spoil the affection he’d so carefully cultivated for the man.    
  
“He cares for you,” Harry assured Rainey. Remus’ eyes fell closed with a shudder. It almost felt as if Harry kept answering Remus’ thoughts and it was difficult for the man to untangle his feelings from his understanding of what was happening before him.

An idea evidently occurred to Harry. “Lie down again,” he urged her. “Just for a moment.” As Rainey complied, the young man quickly plucked another memory. He eased it gently into her mind. It was much shorter than the last, but apparently she found it far more moving. She recovered from it swiftly enough, but she did not sit up right away.

“Like the sea,” she said dreamily, but there was a profound sadness in her eyes as they stared at the starry sky overhead. The phrase meant nothing to Remus. Reluctantly, he glanced to Severus for understanding. The man watched Rainey intently, seeming near tears, but Remus had no idea how much of his condition could be attributed to her and the memory she’d seen and how much to the situation between the two of them.

Remus sneered at himself. It had been a conceited thought, that Severus could be so moved by guilt over his hand in Remus’ present anguish. Remus had been forcing himself on the man for weeks, and Severus had been reluctant to reciprocate at best. And who could blame him? Remus was a werewolf and Severus a vampire. He a Gryffindor and Severus a Slytherin. They were almost literally day and night. Natural enemies. Quite possibly, any affection Remus had perceived was simply the product of his own imagination. In fact, Remus had almost no proof of the man’s feelings for him. As far as he knew, they might not exist at all. Perhaps Severus would have been just as open with anyone who happened to share this strange experience with him. Perhaps Remus was interchangeable. Expendable. The thought gripped Remus’ heart like a frigid vise, chilling it solid in order to crush it to pieces.   

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, “if it upset you.” And Remus felt as if the world beneath him had vanished completely and he was in freefall.  
  
“Oh, no. Thank you, Harry,” Rainey said sincerely, her eyes falling closed to release a delicate tear. It wasn’t until he glimpsed it that Remus recognised the tear tracks cooling on his own cheeks. “That was perfection. I gave you a gift, and you gave one to me,” she said, looking up at Harry with genuine gratitude.  
  
Harry nodded, pleased. “I have to find something to take back to Severus,” he sighed as they rose unsteadily to their feet. The experience seemed to have undone them both and they shuffled a bit, looking slightly lost. Gods, how Remus could empathize.  
  
“Why does he not just come hunt for himself?”  
  
“Oh, he can’t leave the potion,” said Harry. “I’m meant to bring him something for stamina. Apparently, it’s sensitive.”

Rainey's brow furrowed. “Which potion?”  
  
Harry blinked at her, seeming to only just realize that he’d not yet mentioned it.

“Mine,” he explained with a smile as though the fact still surprised him. “It seems he and Hermione did some detective work after he left me last night, and they may have unlocked a treatment for me.”  
  
Rainey did not share his enthusiasm. In fact, she looked inexplicably horrified.

“They’re fixing you?” she demanded angrily. Her sudden shift in mood was disconcerting, especially with all else Remus was dealing with.

“Perhaps,” Harry said cautiously. Rainey sneered in disgust and turned without a word to stalk off into the forest. After a stunned moment, Harry moved to follow. Remus could not. He could barely stand. But they were loud enough that he didn’t need to.

“Loraina? What? Why are you so upset?”  
  
“If they fix you, you won’t leave,” she explained shrilly. “If you don’t leave, _they_ won’t die and neither will we. We’ll all just go on and on,” she spat. “Endlessly, and nothing will be righted and nothing will change. We’ll just steep in our injustices and grow older and more sour. Or I will. And I’m bitter as it is.”

Harry caught her by the arm and forced her to face him, but her glare was so caustic he seemed to instantly regret having done so.

“Why do you want so badly to die, Rainey?” he asked her achingly.

Rainey shook her head at him. “If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand if I told you,” she sneered, jerking her arm from his grasp. With that, she disappeared into the trees, and Severus and Remus soon found themselves in Minerva’s office yet again, sullen and estranged.

 


	35. To Some Secret Hole

**Before: Severus**

“There you are,” Severus remarked on encountering Loraina en route to Minerva’s quarters. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She passed him as if unable to see or hear him, even though his head, at the very least, was clearly visible. “Damn it, Loraina,” he huffed, turning to chase her down. He didn’t have the energy to tip-toe around her tantrum. “The Headmaster asked me to speak to you on his behalf.”

“I’m heading that direction,” she shrugged, not slowing. “I’ll go see him later.”

“He isn’t there. _Loraina_ ,” he barked, stepping in her way to force her to come to a stop. “The matter is serious.” She sighed and rolled her eyes but waited for him to say his piece. Severus reached for patience he didn’t possess and continued. “We need to keep an especially close watch on Harry,” he explained. “We can’t have him roaming the halls as usual.”

“Shame that. As I’ve just seen him leave his dormitory,” she drawled, stepping around the man, to Severus’ extreme vexation. _Damn it_. He’d not been vague when he’d ordered the young man to stay put.

“What do you mean he’s left? Why didn’t you follow him?” he demanded to her retreating back.

“I wasn’t aware it was part of the job description,” she snapped back. “Though I’m fairly certain he was headed in the direction of the love nest we found last night.” She paused finally, but only to turn back and hiss, “If you hurry, I’m sure you can make it there in time to take a turn with him yourself.” Then she continued on her way, barely breaking stride.   

Severus watched her go, his cheeks flaming for a myriad of reasons. He sputtered at the insinuation, but he could no longer claim he wanted no such thing. For the love of Hermes, had it always been so obvious to others? Did she really believe it of him? She’d been taunting him that way for weeks.

But more importantly, he realised: _Harry was in the alcove_. Severus immediately abandoned all effort at further conversation and pulled the cloak he wore over his head, practically sprinting to the scene of the suspected crime.

It was a disaster. Not only was Harry almost certainly doing things to further erode his magical protection, _he was doing them with someone other than Severus._ Of course, Severus would never. But that was entirely beside the point. Though it had been vicarious, Severus had _just_ held the young man, could practically still taste him on his lips. Regardless of how irrational it was, the sense of betrayal Severus felt imagining him with another was impossible for him to shake.

It was not helped by what greeted him when he turned the corner. One did not need preternatural hearing to catch the muffled curse that carried from the curtained recess as he approached it. In another context, it might have been worrisome, indicating injury or anger, but that didn’t make it any less alarming. Severus was forced to hear it uttered a second time before he reached its source. He pulled back the tapestry (mildly surprised he hadn’t yanked it from its moorings) to find Harry pinned against the wall with his eyes scrunched shut, grimacing as a blond head buried itself in the young man’s crotch. It was gorgeously hideous; erotic and, unlike Severus’ reaction to it, completely unambiguous. Severus was flooded with a number of dangerous emotions born of a number of different inspirations. The only thing he knew for certain was that this must be stopped at all costs.

His first impulse was to rip the offending yellow thing away from Harry, but he had no doubt he’d have caused the other boy real injury before he managed to convince his fingers to release him. He reached, instead, for Harry, grasping him by the back of the neck to yank him from the alcove and into the hall. Even that was far more violent than intended, and he was surprised to find himself pinning the youth to the far wall.

Harry did not respond to Severus’ demanding glare. He was clearly lost, shocked by the assault but unable, Severus realised, to see what accosted him. The man tugged the cloak from his head with the hand not struggling not to throttle the teenager and resumed his dirty look.

“ _What in_ **_hell_ ** _do you think you are doing?_ ” he snarled. It was difficult to remember, amidst the whirlwind of his emotions, why he was meant to object to what he’d seen and what it was safe and logical to shout at the young man. He stripped the rest of the cloak while he reached for what to say next. He settled on, “I thought I told you to _stay in your fucking room!_ ”    

Harry did not respond other than to stare at the man, and Severus had a sinking sense of Deja Vu. It was unthinkable enough to shock Severus out of his rage, but he had the benefit of Lupin’s hindsight, and so the young man’s expression was hard to misread. Not that it was especially personal. Severus reflected on what he’d just interrupted and how difficult it was for anyone to shake that state in so short a time. He also looked down and realised he pressed Harry in place against the wall with a disgustingly intimate proportion of his body. He swept back, suddenly embarrassed by his lapse in control, and Harry fell to the floor.

Severus had to get a hold on himself. He’d erred too much already, and Albus hadn’t even been away half an hour. He’d wasted the cloak as a resource, betrayed their knowledge of the alcove, assaulted the young man he was meant to protect; all in a jealous rage over a minor with whom he had never actually been personally involved. It was not one of Severus’ finer moments.  

He watched the disconcerted young man stagger back to his feet, and Severus was tipped off balance once again. Apparently, Harry had been too caught off guard by the flurry of events to realise he’d not been given the opportunity to put himself away. Flustered, Severus commanded him to do just that. Gods, he was still practically hard. Severus refused to admit to himself that the sight affected him in any way other than to offend his prudish sensibilities.

Harry blushed crimson as he quickly turned away to obey.

“It's a little late for modesty, Harry,” Severus pointed out witheringly before striding back over to the wall-hanging and drawing it back. He felt exposed in the open corridor. If anyone were to wander up to the scene, their mutual embarrassment might finish them both. They needed privacy while he tried to figure out how to sort this ungodly mess.

“In here,” he directed.

Harry baulked at the command, and it took Severus half a moment to realise why. For fuck’s sake, just what did the boy think Severus wanted him there for? And _damn it_. Why was he putting ideas into Severus’ head! He lowered a glower at the reluctant teenager.

“We need to _talk_ ,” he hissed. “ _Now._ ”

Thankfully, the young man didn’t argue. Harry shuffled, red-faced, back into the nook and took a seat, unable to look at Severus as he passed, and Severus followed hesitantly, despite that he was the one who ordered them there. The scent of arousal hung heavy in the air, making Harry’s proximity torturous in the stifling confines of the alcove. He was only slightly less virginal than earlier that evening, and Severus was almost overwhelmed by more than one appetite, the newest being unfamiliar enough to be nearly unmanageable. Harry stared resolutely at the floor as Severus paced the ridiculously short space in order to calm his still-confounding arousal.

He had not yet come to terms with the absurdity of the situation when Harry asked, “Is that mine?” as he stared pointedly at the cloak held in a death-grip in Severus’ fist.

Oh, of all the things to be worried over at a time like this.

“ _Not at the moment_ ,” Severus said belligerently, still pacing.

“Where'd _you_ get it?” Harry persisted with a scowl. “I gave it to Dumbledore.”

“Who gave it to me,” Severus snapped, “to keep an eye on _you_ while he's away.”

“What? Wait. You were spying on me?” Harry asked incredulously. Severus had never really had an opportunity, though he’d had every intention and would clearly have been justified.

“Obviously you _need_ a bloody keeper!” he groused. But Harry’s recent embarrassment was a thing of the past and he confronted the assertion angrily.

“What for?!” he sputtered. “For Merlin's sake! To make sure I don't get a bloody blow job along with half the rest of this school?”

“ _Exactly!_ ” Severus hissed, finally stopping his pacing to glare at the young man. The mention of blowjobs reawakened the image in his memory of the Harry being serviced by some golden-haired, no doubt grossly attractive youth, and his blood boiled anew. Somehow, Severus had completely forgotten about the little reprobate.

Harry shot to his feet, incensed. “Listen, I don't know that it's anyone's goddamn business if I get laid,” he shouted, his posture defiant. “It's not like I was hurting anyone!”

Severus thought of all the harm such a thing could actually do, how much time and energy and talent would be wasted, and he had the urge to strike the young man. He actually lunged, though regained his self-control at the last moment. Harry hadn't even flinched.

Severus reminded himself that the boy was clueless to all of that. Despite Albus’ wishes, the disclosure could no longer be delayed, it seemed. And Severus was not pleased to be the one to have to deliver it.

“Sit down,” Severus ordered. When Harry made no move to do so, he added, “ _NOW!_ ”

Harry didn't so much sit as the ferocity in Severus' voice and expression turned his knees to putty and he collapsed. Severus took a calming breath. Shouting at Harry would accomplish nothing productive. But the information he was about to impart was complicated, and there was no possible way it would be well received. He didn’t even know where to start.

“ _You_ are not half this school, Harry,” he explained with forced calm. “Certain safeguards have been put in place, certain spells that are only truly effective while the subject maintains their...innocence.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the sudden compulsion toward delicacy, except that he realised he hadn’t spoken aloud about sexual matters for an embarrassingly long time. And he sure as hell had never expected to speak about them with Harry Bloody Potter.

Harry looked at Severus sceptically. “What are you saying?” he asked, almost as if trying to work out if the man was having him on. “I can't have sex because it will break a few _spells?_ ”

Clearly, he was not conveying the scope of the situation. “Not just a few, Harry,” Severus said wearily, taking a heavy seat as far from the young man as he could manage. “And they aren't mere spells. They are so much more.”

Severus looked at Harry’s scowling incredulity, and his jealousy and frustration cooled to be replaced by a reluctant compassion. He finally simply saw Harry for what he was: a teenaged boy who was doing what came naturally; who was actually doing it far later than many of his peers because of what Severus had helped do to the poor boy when he was just an infant. It was time he tried to explain Harry’s situation properly and with respect, and to hope the young man was able to appreciate the necessity of what they’d tried to do.

“Harry, what recent generations seem to have forgotten is that sex is not just sex,” he went on, uncomfortably. “Not for a Wizard. It is a rite of passage. It affects a person on a fundamental magical level. As such, there is some magic that works best on virgins, particularly protective magic. Alternatively, there is magic that only comes into its full potency when virginity is lost. But virginity isn't a switch that one flips,” he stressed in response to Harry’s impatient expression. “It can be eroded. Intercourse is simply the point of no return. It rarely matters these days,” he conceded, “so people forget. Magic changes. It evolves. But the basis of all magic goes back to a time when purity was paramount and evil was absolute. The world was not always so grey.”

Harry seemed to digest this, still disgruntled but coming around.

“When you were born,” Severus continued, hoping to take advantage of the young man’s increasing openness, “or rather, when it was realised what your destiny could be, several steps were taken. Old Magic was used, Harry. Potent, primitive magic like the kind that saved your life the night your parents died.” In fact, it had been just that accidental magic that had given Albus the idea to use the arcane spells in the first place. “While it can be as simple as a Mother's love, it's rarely that easy. But it was necessary,” he said, seeing resignation seep into Harry’s expression. Severus sighed. “You didn't think we dropped you off with a bunch of Muggles with nothing more to protect you than a baby blanket, did you?”

Harry, however, was far from assuaged. Instead of the anger he expected, Severus could veritably see the weight of the young man’s destiny settle firmly onto his shoulders, slumping his posture. Again, Severus spied the defeat and the finely-matured despondency he’d first recognised at the start of term; and quite contrary to character, he felt the impulse to embrace the young man. He supposed, irritably, that too much of Lupin must still linger in his system.

“Why didn't someone just tell me all this before?” Harry asked, weary to his soul. Severus shifted uncomfortably.

“It was considered. But it only recently became a possi-”

Severus bit off the rest of that thought. He wasn’t certain yet that it was wise to give Harry the whole truth. What they’d broached already was weighty enough as it was, and he didn’t want to completely crush the young man. Perhaps he should wait for a later conversation to break the full injustice of the situation to him.

“Only recently became an issue,” he amended quickly. “And partly we were afraid that if we told you you couldn't, you'd do it for spite,” he added in a mutter.

“You all really thought I'd go and…” He couldn’t seem to put the act into words. “Just to spit in your eye?” Harry sputtered. Severus winced at Harry’s obvious offence. Which was more than justified. That last comment really hadn’t been necessary. Severus wrote it off as habit and tried to cut the condescension.

“Alright, _I_ thought that,” he admitted peevishly. “But when it became an imperative, you were already dealing with so much that the Headmaster wasn't sure how you'd handle another revelation. And another prohibition.”

“When it became an imperative?” said Harry, becoming increasingly annoyed. “Just when did you all figure out when that was?” he asked flippantly. “No one was following me on my dates with Cho. Or were you, and I simply didn't notice?” he sneered.

Severus’s sardonics seemed to be rubbing off on the boy, he thought darkly. But it was a fair question and despite his earlier hope, it was clear the matter could not go undiscussed.

“There is something else, perhaps, you should know,” Severus admitted with much hesitance. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off an intolerable headache but motioned for Severus to continue. “Considering the importance of your purity, another spell was cast.”

“Of course, it was,” Harry muttered. Severus scowled. He knew this news was unpleasant all around, but he really thought Harry might _try_ to see their perspective.

“It was not simply to ensure the protections. It was a protection in itself. Little was known about your relatives or their possible...predilections _,”_ he pointed out defensively. “It may, however, have had some unintended consequences,” he confessed.

Harry stared at him for a moment before muttering, “Just get on with it, Snape.”

Severus hated that. He hated the way Harry said his surname like a curse. The young man’s undisguised insolence was starting to chafe, and Severus’ scowl was instantly reinforced.

“What is it?” Harry snapped, ruffling Severus further. The Potions Master's tone turned decidedly less sympathetic.

“It _was_ a kind of magical chastity belt,” he explained. “It was intended to deflect all sexual interest.”

Harry seemed confused. Angry, as well, but mostly confused.

“But I've had loads of interest,” he argued, “just this term. Hell, just this _week_ I've gotten about ten heart-doodled propositions. And I don't think they were _all_ tongue-in-cheek. Not to mention-”

“You turned sixteen,” Severus said, cutting him off, unable to bear hearing the details of Harry's romantic life. “The spell broke automatically when you reached the lawful age of consent as determined by the Ministry of Magic.”

Harry blinked at him, and Severus watched as some significant comprehension washed over him. Harry looked back up at the Potions Master, disconcerted and overwhelmed.

“While I would not suggest you pursue a career in modelling,” Severus drawled in grudging response, “you are not an unattractive young man, Harry.” Voicing it had been difficult, mostly because it reminded Severus, uncomfortably, of just how long he’d been contemplating that fact; and how it affected him now. “It's simply that, before your sixteenth birthday, no one was allowed to notice it. And to those who knew you and were _so inclined,”_ he said somewhat sarcastically, as if he wasn’t suddenly one of them, “the contrast was somewhat striking, I believe.”

“But Cho,” Harry said, still struggling with the epiphany. “And Ginny?”

Severus snorted. “When Ginny Weasley first met you, she was ten and you were a celebrity,” he sneered. “Then you became her personal hero a year later. That isn't attraction, Harry,” he said witheringly. “It's idol worship. And Miss Chang, I believe, was simply a confused young girl, reassigning her feelings for her lost boyfriend to the last person to see him alive, the only other person who seemed to be as affected by his loss as she was.” Severus sighed theatrically. “Thus is the nature of the romances of young people, Harry. Hormones and confusion,” he said with a shake of his head.

Harry sat quietly for a while, processing this new information, when something seemed to dawn on him.

“You said it was a protection. From my relatives. You said it had unintended consequences,” Harry prompted accusingly.

 _Well, hell_. He’d finally worked it out. Somehow, Severus had hoped he wouldn’t. But there was no sense in pussyfooting around the matter. Severus would simply have to brace for the aftermath.

“As we would not have access to you again for some time, and since the effects can gradually weaken over time, the spell initially had to be considerably strong,” he explained. “At the time it was cast, it made you rather distasteful in general, to be honest.” Harry's brow furrowed, and he glared at Severus who shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. “And it may have had a stronger effect on those unaccustomed to the influence of magic as a matter of course.”

Harry’s anger didn’t take long to build before bursting forth.

“Are you telling me my _entire shitty childhood_ \--all the rejection and disgust and ill-treatment I lived through at the hands of the Dursleys: being locked in cupboards and starved and beaten and bullied--was because I was wearing some hyper-potent invisible chastity belt?!” Harry demanded. “Some bloody fucking _protection_ ,” he spat, disgusted.

Severus was so shocked by the content of the outburst he completely failed to notice Harry’s foul language. Of course, he’d known Harry had been locked in a cupboard, however much he’d like to forget it. But he hadn’t been aware the boy had been physically abused or deprived of food. Though, really, it wasn’t much of a stretch from solitary confinement. If a man could lock a child in a cupboard, he could do almost anything.

“It is one possibility,” Severus replied with a scowl of his own. “But perhaps better than the possibility of being _molested by your uncle_ ,” he snapped. “Or worse.” But his anger wasn’t really directed at Harry.

 _If Severus ever met Harry’s family_...he’d be sent to Azkaban, it was as simple as that. He was almost surprised the abuse hadn’t included that element, despite the spell. Bullies like that didn’t commit those kinds of crimes out of sexual inclination. Severus should know. It was an assertion of power and control, meant purely to hurt and humiliate.

“I can't believe nobody has told me until now,” Harry said, shaking his head reproachfully. “And that it was _you_ of all people!”

Severus, still distracted by the violence he felt toward the Dursley’s, was more bothered than usual to recognise the young man’s obvious distaste for him. Here he was, contemplating murder on the young man’s behalf, and Harry could hardly seem to bear the sight of him. 

“ _Harry_ ,” he began, his tone part irritation, part apology, and double parts exasperation. But Harry cut him off, so frustrated he looked as if he might cry.

“You all treat me like I'm still a child! Even _you_ ,” he sneered, “with all your talk of my ‘right to choose’.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at the young man. He clearly remembered saying those words, but he could have sworn it was done in confidence. Surely Albus hadn’t relayed their private conversation.

“When did you-?” But the thought was cut short by the sound of someone approaching in the corridor. Severus cursed under his breath and peeked out of the wall-hanging. Of all the bloody times to be interrupted. Who in hell was even out at this hour?

“It's only Filch,” he reported, seeing the caretaker’s lantern swinging as he hobbled his way past them, grumbling under his breath about 'ruddy wards' and 'bloody troublemakers'. The remarks troubled Severus, so much so that it even drove the present matter out of his mind. He knew for a fact that no one had been down this way for some time, and there was very little in the direction the man was travelling save Severus’ own classroom and the dungeons. It was not even the entrance to them Slytherin House typically used. If something had disturbed the wards, it had not come from within the Castle.

“We'll finish this later, Harry. Stay here for now,” he instructed him distractedly, slipping out of the alcove, his heart tripping in his chest. Severus pulled on his well-practiced mask, the one he wore frequently when interacting with the enemy. He had no idea what he might be heading into, but instinct told him it was nothing good.

“You're out quite late, Mr. Filch,” Severus said mildly by way of greeting, startling the man who hadn't noticed him approach from behind. The caretaker swung his lantern around to see Severus properly.

“Yessir, Professor Snape. It's the ruddy wards,” he explained. “Someone's been tamperin’ with 'em again. Bloody kids,” he grumbled under his breath. “I've just come to investigate. But you'd have thought I'd 'ave seen the buggers trying to escape by now. It's just up here.” He motioned with his lantern. Severus, however, didn’t need a lantern to see there was nothing whatsoever in the darkened corridor.

“Show me,” he demanded, increasingly unsettled.

“Aright. Like I said, it's just this way,” Filch shrugged, shuffling off in that direction.

Severus followed, but the man’s progress was painfully slow. He was just contemplating leaving Filch behind to go investigate independently when he saw a pale blue glow ignite ahead, seeming to hover in mid-air. Severus glanced back to the wall hanging with a curse, guessing immediately what it must be.

He’d left the ruddy cloak behind.

 _Damned impertinent Gryffindor!_ Why could he never simply do as he was told?   


	36. Away, I Say!

**Before: Severus**

Harry’s wand clattered to the floor, still illuminated, and rolled away from him. Severus panicked that he’d lose the invisible young man, but the next moment, the resounding metallic twang of the wards being struck echoed down the corridor. In fact, it sounded over and over as though Harry were trying to beat his way out of them. The cacophony was soon joined by a roar of anguish. The sound of it tugged Severus by the heart toward its source, but he was stopped short, both by the scent of virgin blood and the sight of what triggered its spill.   

The floor seemed to fall out from under Severus. He’d heard no whisper of this plan in Voldemort’s court. It was such a shame. Hagrid had been a good man, had always treated Severus with respect. He had adored Harry, and the affection had been mutual. Harry shouldn’t have been the one to find him. He wouldn’t have been, if only he could follow simple instructions. But that could not be changed now.

“Ghost!” Filch cried, eyes bulging. He'd run the rest of the way and now stood somewhere behind Harry with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath as the chaos of sound continued to buffet them. “We got ourselves another bloomin' poltergeist! Just what I need-”

“Do stop being an idiot, Mr. Filch!” Severus growled over the noise. “And go find the Deputy Headmistress. Now!” Severus thundered when the man did not immediately move. Filch scrambled to comply, jogging back the way they had just come.

Harry had stopped bellowing and now sobbed, though the sound was almost lost in the unending sheet-metal ring of the offended wards, which he still fought. Severus was overwhelmed. His senses were raw from the clamorous assault on them, his soul was already ragged from everything that had come immediately before, and the smear of Harry’s blood on the invisible wards hung like desire made manifest, teasing his fangs from their sheathes. But he had to push all that aside. Harry was in pain.

Severus dropped to his knees beside him and struggled to subdue the young man. He realised he would not manage it without seeing him, and he succeeded finally in finding purchase on Harry’s cloak to strip it from him. 

“Harry! Stop this nonsense!” Severus hissed in his ear, as kindly as a hiss could be made, as he reached around him to pin his arms in an attempt to prevent him from hurting himself further.

“It's my fault,” Harry keened, still crying, still fighting.

“Not everything can be about you, Harry,” Severus barked quietly. He needed the young man to believe it. While it was true he had a hand in most missteps, the circumstances and resulting tragedy were seldom truly his fault. Too much misfortune visited the boy, he could not accept responsibility for all of it. No one could bear such a burden. “You're just being a narcissist. Now desist with this pointless- ”

“Snape! Look at his coat,” Harry sobbed, abruptly giving up his struggles and slumping where he knelt. Apprehensively, Severus released the now docile though still devastated young man and stood to peer through the archway.

His blood froze. He hadn’t seen the note before. He’d been too distracted by the recognition of to whom it was attached. Severus tried very hard not to be angry, but he didn't quite manage it. This was exactly why people kept dying.

“What does it mean?” Severus asked, a hint of steel in his voice. “What haven't you told us?”

Harry looked sick with guilt. Severus hated seeing it, but this wasn’t the time to pet it away. He needed Harry to confess what he knew. He needed to know what needed to be done, what had happened and what Albus may be walking into.

“Voldemort. He...” Harry began. Severus waited as patiently as he could for the young man’s panic to subside enough for him to speak, but he wanted to shake the boy.

“That night in Dumbledore's office, after I passed out, I couldn't keep him out,” Harry admitted in a rush. “He told me if I didn't stop fighting...” Harry squeezed his eyes shut, clearly wrestling with the memory.

Severus imagined he must have done so since it occurred. The energy released in destroying Albus’ office would have left him dangerously spent and completely vulnerable, and Severus had no doubt whatsoever that the Dark Lord had taken full advantage of Harry’s helplessness. There was no telling what visions he visited on the boy. And no knowing what secrets he mined. Severus supposed if anything too sensitive had been gleaned, he would not be here now to wonder on it. But the fact that he’d been blindsided by Hagrid’s death did not bode well.

“Voldemort said he'd let my loved ones live, even me, if I just let him...” Harry couldn’t say any more for a moment, but he didn’t need to. Severus understood. He looked out at Hagrid's still form then back at Harry with genuine pity.

“But I couldn't!” Harry cried, almost apologetically. “I couldn't just agree to do nothing! To not try to stop him! And so,” he confessed shakily, “he said he'd kill you all one by one. Until...until I was just like him,” Harry finished in an agonised whisper. Then he gave over to weeping again, silent but unceasing. Severus simply watched him cry for a moment, seized by a debilitating sympathy.

This poor boy. Severus was no longer angry about the omission. Knowing this would not have saved Hagrid. Harry had done well. The offer had to have been seductive, especially after the attack. And he’d carried the weight of the choice by himself all this time. Harry had to stop this. He had to stop believing he was alone in these things. They were there to support him. He needed to let them help hold what he could not bear on his own.

Hesitantly, Severus knelt beside Harry, but he did not know what to do. His mother had always held Severus when he cried, but Severus was not Harry’s mother. Would it be uncomfortable for him if Severus embraced him? He lifted a hand to lay it on Harry's shoulder but hesitated. It had recently been made clear that the young man disliked him. Surely his touch would not be welcome now.

“Harry,” he began uncertainly, when he was interrupted by a familiar and extremely ill-timed voice. Severus’ eyes fell closed with dread.

“What's all this then, My Little Harry?”

Severus swept to his feet, begging Loraina with his eyes to move on and let him handle this situation. What the hell was she even doing here? Did she have a death wish? The boy was clearly emotional. How did they know he wasn’t showing everything he saw to the Dark Lord? But he could tell by her expression that she had no intention of leaving. She was aggravated at him. Most likely, she’d been called by the screaming scent of Harry’s uniquely enticing blood. But if she also smelled an opportunity here to twist a knife, she’d take it.

“Loraina,” Severus informed her stiffly, trying to draw her eye from the boy so his expression could say more than what he was about to speak. “Unfortunately, it appears one of our colleagues has been discovered just outside the Castle wards.”

She paid Severus almost no mind at all. Her eyes were dilated and she stared at Harry as if he were a banquet. Not that he feared she’d try to sample him. The bloodlust simply made her even more unpredictable than usual. Clearly, it was overriding her judgement if she was disregarding the danger her presence meant to both of them. Severus was having a hard enough time fighting it himself. He had to get her away from here as soon as possible.

“It was her,” Harry said suddenly. “I know what she is,” he gasped. “I've seen her leave the grounds. I've seen her come back into the Castle just here!”

Severus winced. The situation was spiralling out of hand. He turned to the young man, needing to be delicate but also wanting to shout at him to shut his fucking mouth before he said out loud what Severus knew he was thinking.

“Harry,” Severus said carefully, “you are mistaken.” He was trying not to sound harsh, but there was still a warning in his tone. Loraina simply watched the exchange as if with mild interest. But Severus knew better. He could see the suspicion building in her. He could tell she was practically willing Harry to say the words so she could throttle him for his insolence.

“She's from the Romanian Coven. That's why she has that weird accent,” Harry went on. Severus glared at him, brow furrowed, willing him to be quiet. He could see in his expression that the young man understood but was beyond caring.

“She’s killed Hagrid, Snape,” he insisted stubbornly in response to the silent request. “Just look at him!”

“Harry!” Severus barked, finally losing some of his composure. “You've had a shock and are not thinking clearly. You mustn't-”

“She's in league with Voldemort, don't you get that?” Harry shouted, tearing at his hair.

Loraina needed no further provocation. She snarled at Harry, fangs bared, and the young man panicked and cast about for his lost wand. What in hell had he expected to happen? _Why did he never think through his actions?_ Harry dove for his wand in the same instant Loraina made a lunge for him, but Severus interceded, throwing himself between the two and restraining the woman. She wasn’t really fighting him. She could likely have easily flung Severus aside. She wanted to be held back as much as she wanted to murder the young man. Severus had felt the exact same impulse himself before.

“The boy's a fool, Cobs! Leave him,” he hissed. “He doesn't know what he's saying.”

Loraina stopped struggling but did not tear her hateful gaze from Harry. “If I didn't need you, _boy_ ,” she spat, “I'd rip your throat out right here and watch you bleed to death slung over the body of your fallen friend.”

Severus flinched. It was unnecessarily harsh. She was too hardened, perhaps, to understand it was more than a barb, was more sadistic than mere intimidation. She was throwing fuel on the fire Severus had been trying to douse. This was just the thoughtless cruelty that had caused him to turn his back on her in the first place. It wasn’t even calculated or purposeful. It was carelessly inhumane.

Harry stumbled to his feet away from her and struck the wards at his back, raising his wand, but Severus couldn’t pay him much mind as he could still feel the violent impulse in the twitch in Loraina’s muscles as he held her still.

“Loraina, listen to me,” Severus said firmly, shaking her, trying to force her to meet his eye. She did so reluctantly, and Severus searched for the soul he knew once resided behind that icy blue glare. “Go back to your quarters and wait. Let me handle this,” he said more calmly, trying to soothe her.

She looked at Severus then, finally seeing him through her rage, and her lingering affection for him infected her caustic expression. She relaxed, and he released her experimentally, his arms still raised in case he needed to restrain her again but with his palms held out in a plea for peace.

“I will deal with the boy,” he assured her. “Just go. I'll talk to you after I've taken care of things.”

Loraina threw a scathing look at Harry but then did as she was told, and Severus watched her until she was out of sight to assure himself she wouldn't decide to turn back. Then he turned to Harry. Their wretched expressions mirrored one another. Severus was exhausted already, but he knew Harry’s grief had only been interrupted, not banished. He opened his mouth to speak when they both heard commotion further down the hall. Argus had found Minerva and they were coming this way.

 _Shit_.

“Harry, don't say a word,” Severus warned, his eyes never leaving the approaching pair.

“But McGonagall-”

“ _Silencio!_ ” Severus said with a quick flick of his wand. It was rude, but Severus had panicked. Harry was enraged to find he couldn't speak. He released a barrage of soundless curses, but Severus ignored them and quickly retrieved the invisibility cloak, tossing it over the young man. Harry tried to rip it off but Severus took him roughly by the arms.

“For once, just _trust_ me, Harry!” he begged quietly.

Minerva’s affection for Hagrid far outweighed her trust of Loraina, who had done little to endear herself to any of the faculty since she’d arrived. Minerva was shrewd, but he couldn’t know how much weight Harry’s accusations would carry in the wake of this discovery. She would be heartbroken, and blame is a simple, if temporary, balm for loss. He didn’t fear Minerva’s reaction so much as Loraina’s response to it.

Harry glared at him but reluctantly pulled the cloak back over his head. “Wait for me in my office,” Severus instructed, “I'll be there shortly.”

Though he could not see him, he felt the young man move out of his grasp and away. Severus hastily cast a scouring spell on the bloody wards to wipe them clean and prayed to all the gods that Harry would do as he was told for once. Then he straightened his robes and strode down the hall to meet Filch and McGonagall.

“Severus?” Minerva asked apprehensively, seeing the pained apology in his expression as he approached. “Argus tells me we’ve a poltergeist,” she said as if she knew it was not the case and was waiting with dread anticipation to be told differently.

Severus shook his head sadly and opened his hands to her in a silent invitation for her to take them. She did so, her heart clearly already breaking. The gesture was uncharacteristically tender of him and so she knew the news must be truly awful.

“I’m so sorry, Minerva. It’s Hagrid.”

She released a piercing cry of grief before she managed to bring a hand to her mouth to stifle it. Filch seemed shocked. He’d suspected ghosts, not corpses.

“The Headmaster has had to leave on an important errand. I was meant to give this to you,” Severus told her, pulling the note from the inside pocket of his robes. Minerva unrolled the parchment and scanned its contents, her expression crumpling even further as she read.

“I’m to keep an eye out for Hagrid,” she explained feebly. “He was late in reporting back from his mission and Albus was expecting him any moment. Oh dear,” she said faintly, taking a moment to compose herself. It didn’t take long. She knew she was in charge now and there were things that needed urgently to be done.

“Miss Granger,” she went on, re-reading the note, sounding more and more professional and collected with each passing breath. “Albus says she may be in danger?”

Severus glanced uneasily to Filch. Minerva read the sensitivity of the matter in the Potions Master’s expression and turned to the caretaker.

“Mr. Filch. Go and rouse the others,” she said with smooth command. “Tell them what has happened. Our wards have been breached and our friend has been murdered. Our students are in danger. Have Filius arrange a search of the grounds, then come back here so that we may care for Hagrid.”

Argus nodded firmly and set off with a determined expression. When he was out of earshot, Minerva turned to Severus for him to elaborate.

“We think Draco may be communicating with his father somehow. No doubt it has something to do with what happened tonight. Albus left for Malfoy Manor in hopes of finding something that would allow us to locate Lucius before it is too late. Whatever they are planning, Hagrid is not the end of it.”

“And Hermione is involved? What about Harry?”

“Albus had charged me with looking after Harry,” Severus explained quickly as if laying claim. “But he fears they may be trying to get to Harry through Hermione. She needs to be kept safe. I suppose someone will need to tell her what’s happened, regardless,” he added sadly. Minerva nodded.

“And Potter? Perhaps I should tell them both at the same time,” she said uneasily, as if thinking Severus was perhaps not the best choice for the assignment.

“He knows,” Severus whispered, his eyes falling to a close remembering the young man’s cries. “He was Argus’ poltergeist,” he explained. The two shared a pitiful glance. “He’s in my office at the moment. I need to see to him,” he told her anxiously.

Minerva gave him a curious look but shook her head to banish whatever question she’d refrained from asking. “Of course, Severus. Albus charged you with the boy. Go on. We’ll contact you if we need you.”

Severus nodded and quickly took his leave. He moved swiftly, but dread stiffened his joints. He knew the others would likely be better at comforting the young man, but he had to assuage Harry’s suspicions about Loraina first. It felt selfish, however necessary, and Severus was plagued with guilt.        

He slipped quietly into his office to find Harry still invisible. He could hear the young man pace restlessly, though. Severus’ eyes fell to the floor where Harry’s steps kicked up the edge of his cloak, betraying flashes of his feet. One of his trainers was undone and Severus had a peculiar urge to drop to one knee and tie it. The young man was a mess. He needed looking after. Severus reminded himself yet again that he was not Harry’s mother. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still care for him in other appropriate ways. Severus reached out as Harry turned once more to pace and caught his cloak so that it slipped off the young man and into Severus’ hand as Harry walked past him. Harry didn't even break stride, he just tossed an aggressive glare up at Severus as he turned and paced back the other way. He suspected Harry was holding on to his anger in order to stave off his grief, as usual, but he was still stung by the venom in the young man's look.

“Come with me, Harry,” Severus said solemnly. He flooed them to his quarters, knowing the charm on Harry’s voice would break when they stepped from the hearth. Severus had placed several of his own wards on his private rooms, the dissolution of enchantments being one of them. Harry did not use his newly regained voice immediately, though. He waited until Severus unlocked the door with a wave of his wand so he could stomp into their Potions lab ahead of Severus, whirling to face him when he reached the sink. Severus stood silently to accept the young man's well-deserved tirade.

“And why can't I talk to Professor McGonagall?” Harry demanded. Severus did not answer him right away. His grave gaze drifted from Harry's face.

“You've ruined your hands again,” he observed softly. The scent was not as overwhelming as it had been before, and his fangs had disappeared, but it was still distracting. Though surprisingly, it was due more to the distress of knowing the young man was damaged than to the bloodlust. Harry looked down at his split and bleeding fingers as if only just realising he was injured.

Severus retrieved some freshly brewed healing salve from the cauldron nearby. Then, as he had done to his damaged nails before, Severus carefully applied the medicine to Harry's knuckles, gently smoothing it over the burst skin as he tried to sort through what he wanted to say to the youth. He worked slowly, not because he couldn’t gather his thoughts, but because he realised, self-consciously, it was giving him an excuse to touch the young man; one he shouldn’t want but did. One, he thought with a pang, he might never have again.  

“The situation is precarious,” Severus explained through the lump in his throat. “The staff distrust Loraina. I couldn't have you making accusations until the Headmaster returns to keep the peace.” Severus finished his ministrations and walked away from Harry without meeting his eye under the pretence of cleaning his own hands, trying to will away his bizarre sense of grief.

“Snape,” Harry implored, drawing Severus’ cautious attention. He’d uttered his name far more gently this time, and Severus withdrew slightly from his approach, confused by the inquiry in his eyes. It reminded him of the way Harry had looked at Lupin at the foot of Albus’ stairs. There was a kind of need in them that had not been directed at Severus for quite some time. Harry stopped before he reached the man, but Severus almost wished he hadn’t.

Harry’s hands opened and closed at his sides as if he longed to cling to something. “I can't,” Harry gasped softly, his tears returning, tugging annoyingly at Severus’ heart. “I can't lose anyone else. It could be Hermione next, or Remus, or...” He abruptly stopped his list and gave Severus a surprised but considering look. But Severus did not dare to hope his name might have been next on his lips.

“We have to stop him!” Harry cried instead.

“And just what do you think we've been attempting to do all these years?” Severus said, exasperated, though he eyed Harry with concern. Harry hugged his arms around his chest and bent at the waist, pulling breath into his lungs with increasing difficulty. “You are having an anxiety attack. You need a sedative,” Severus diagnosed with a worried scowl as he brushed past him to retrieve one.

“I can't _sleep_ ,” Harry hiccupped, properly hyperventilating now. “He has an accomplice inside the Castle and the Headmaster is away!”

“And just what in hell are you meant to do about it?” Severus snapped, whirling on him.

For Merlin’s sake! The boy seemed to think he was the only one capable of addressing a crisis. He seemed to care so little for his own damned safety. Well, by gods, Severus cared! And Harry’s eternal willingness to throw himself into danger’s path was going to give the man fucking grey hairs.

“Drink this bloody potion, Harry, before you fall over," he muttered, thrusting a phial at him which Harry stubbornly declined to accept, to Severus’ increasing frustration. "The Headmaster is investigating an important matter,” Severus explained shortly, though the news produced no change in Harry’s demeanour. “And Loraina is not an accomplice,” he added irritably. “We don't yet know anything about what happened to Hagrid.”

“She's a vampire,” Harry said darkly, his suspicious anger seeming to override his anxiety. He walked quickly over to the fresh batch of Substisanguinus Severus had bottled earlier that evening and snatched up a phial, shaking it at the Potions Master accusingly. “She’s a vampire, and you bloody well knew it! She's working with the enemy.”

Harry’s obstinance was seriously provoking Severus’ temper. He was so bloody full of assumption. He had _no idea_ what they two had sacrificed, what they had suffered at the Dark Lord’s hands. He could not comprehend the disrespect that he’d shown Loraina earlier that evening, that he continued to show with his repeated accusations. His understanding of the matter was infantile, and he seemed to have no interest at all in controlling his righteous indignation long enough to consider that possibility.

“Harry, you're speaking of things about which you know absolutely nothing! You cannot accuse people without proof,” Severus said in stern warning.

“Proof?” Harry shouted incredulously. “She's just threatened to rip out my throat!”

“And I can sympathise!” Severus shouted back, having finally reached the end of his patience. “I've wanted to murder you a thousand times since the day we met. It's a natural reaction!”

Harry was beside himself with what he perceived as Severus’ inability to see the simple ‘truth’ Harry was trying to convey.

“Why is it no one ever listens to me?!” Harry said, taking the phial in his hand and throwing it forcefully against the wall in frustration.

Severus watched his precious and laboriously-brewed antidote sail through the air and shatter against the stones in a starburst of crimson and glass, and he went white with rage. His tenderness toward the young man was all but forgotten. He seized Harry by the front of his shirt and slammed him back into the wall, surprising the anger out of him.

“I am not the Headmaster, and you will not break my things with impunity,” Severus said, his voice a spitting hiss. Grieving or not, there was no excusing the young man’s actions.

Severus saw Harry's close stare glaze over. He had no idea what he’d just done, didn’t seem interested in taking responsibility for it, didn’t even seem interested in listening. But Severus would not be ignored. He _would_ get through to him. His immaturity and lack of understanding were placing them all in danger, Harry first and foremost. Not relinquishing his shirt-front, Severus drew back just far enough to slap Harry across the face. It had not been meant to hurt, only to waken him.

“Snap out of it, Harry! This is a fucking war,” he snarled. “What did you think happens to people in a war? They die. Many of them. The only thing you should concern yourself with is how not to become one of them!” he whispered savagely through clenched teeth.

Severus expected whining and equivocation, but to the man's complete surprise, Harry snarled himself in response and took hold of Severus’ robe front, turning him with a yank to reverse their position. Severus was so shocked to find himself pinned against the wall instead, so taken aback by the young man’s fierce expression, he did not have time to react to Harry’s face suddenly moving toward his.

_What in hell was happening?_

Severus supposed it was meant to be a kiss, but it was so incomprehensible he could do little more than bunch his fists in Harry’s shirt. He was too busy working out why he was being kissed to expel him. Whatever it was was violent, more an assault than affection, and Severus felt the inside of his lip tear on his teeth. Though the blood was his own, his fangs began to stir.

“Harry don’t,” he tried to say, but the young man did not relent, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue into Severus’ mouth.

Dangerous as it was, it was so hard to stop. Severus seemed to have just done this with Harry, to have been disappointed that the encounter had not lasted longer. But this was not vicarious. Severus was not slave to Lupin’s actions. He could decide his own. He could anchor his fingers in Harry’s thick black hair if he wanted. He could wrap his arm around Harry’s shoulders and bend him back beneath him, could take his plump bottom lip in his teeth.

He did none of these things, though. Harry’s aggression was delicious but careless, and his tongue raked across Severus’ fang, grazing it just enough to make the taste of his perfect blood explode in Severus’ mouth. The man’s self-control virtually evaporated, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to sink his teeth into the hungry muscle that battled with his own. He knocked the young man away from him. It had been reflexive and far too forceful, but any alternative would have been perilous. Harry did not simply stagger back from him. Severus found he had sent the young man flying across the room.

Harry coughed, sputtered, all the air having been knocked from his lungs. The two glared at each other as Harry struggled to breathe again, as Severus clung to the wall behind him as he struggled not to descend on Harry's sprawled form and open his veins.

“Get out,” Severus managed to warn through clenched teeth as Harry fought his way to his feet. The man could still taste him. It overpowered all his senses and disrupted his thoughts. It had been so long since Severus had tasted actual blood. It had been even longer since he’d tasted human blood. And he had never in his life tasted blood as delicious and irresistible as Harry’s. Every cell in his body screamed for him to catch the boy and drink his fill. Harry was angry, hurt, and Severus still could not fathom what had possessed the young man to do what he’d done. But Severus could not question or elaborate, he could not apologise or placate or discuss what had happened or why. He could do nothing more than hold himself back from killing the young man.

Harry threw him a vicious look, but he didn’t argue. Neither, however, did he leave right away. He stomped over to retrieve the invisibility cloak from where Severus had tossed it across his desk. _Damn it._ Severus did not want him to take it, but he was in no state to prevent it. He had no choice but to silently watch as Harry stalked back up the stairs with the thing without a backwards glance.

Severus smelled his exit, the absence of his perfume as he flooed away, and finally allowed himself to relax. Though, his heart still raced and his chest still heaved. The bloodlust had never been so intense before, not since the Madness had released him over a decade ago. Severus ached. There was so much that needed to be done, so many matters to attend to. Harry must be followed, watched to be sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

But first, Severus felt he must address the throb between his legs, immediately, else he might die.


	37. By Uproar Sever'd, Like a Flight of Fowl

**Before: Severus**

Severus had always before liked the purposefulness of buttons. He was aware his wardrobe reflected this to the point of near fetish. The deliberate intention required to dress himself each morning centred him. But he cursed the blasted things now. Aloud. Miraculously, none were lost as Severus tore open the front of his trousers, but it had been a near miss.

He would have preferred this exercise to be more perfunctory, but Harry’s scent clung to his robes. His blood still sang on Severus’ tongue. When he closed his eyes, Harry’s green ones still flashed angrily at him like an afterimage burned into his vision. The young man’s intensity, and how it would surely translate in sinful contexts, set Severus’ body and imagination aflame, and his arousal was too urgent for him to feel guilty for it.

Still, he’d never done this before while thinking of another man.

He found it excited him, though, imagining it was not himself he took in hand. Harry was, admittedly, larger than he was, but not intimidatingly so. It was surprisingly easy to pretend Severus was reaching around the young man’s slender body and grasping him firmly, making his head swim as Severus’ was doing now. It seemed natural to run his hand under his shirt and across the flat planes of his own chest, ignoring the prominence of his ribs, and imagine it was Harry he pressed hungrily to him as he pulled the youth, with short, rugged strokes, closer and closer to climax.

It was too luxurious to be allowed to finish so soon, however. Severus drew it out. He slowed his hand and leaned forward, supporting himself on the worktable, and pictured himself bending the young man over. He shuddered. He imagined himself sliding his cock between Harry’s firm arse cheeks, and he moaned.

But when he imagined pressing himself against the young man’s tight ring of muscle, his arousal faltered. He rushed to banish the memory, ancient now, of the potential pain of such an entry. He knew there was a way to go about it that was pleasant and consensual and not at all scarring, but he couldn’t focus on it for sharp, disjointed flashbacks of tearing flesh and screaming, bruised arms and mud-caked nails, blood and tears.

A sob escaped him, but he wasn’t willing to give his trauma dominion. He attempted to rescue his erection by imagining running his hands across Harry’s supple young skin and through the chaos of his hair. He pictured taking his face gently between his hands and kissing him tenderly, then not so tenderly. But the orgasm, which only a moment before had promised to be shattering and spectacular, was gone beyond retrieval. Severus was so frustrated he felt he could actually weep. He dropped to a seat on his cot, the remains of his failed endeavour still hanging from his pants, his precious buttons threatened for nothing, and laid his head in his hands.

He’d thought he’d left the experience behind him long ago, but perhaps he’d simply stopped engaging in activities that triggered its recollection. Loraina had eventually stopped requesting he attempt such things with her, but the pain was still so fresh then. He’d had a lifetime since--Harry’s whole lifetime, he reflected with a turn of his stomach--to move past the event. Surely it couldn’t keep him captive forever.

Regardless, it shackled him now. In fact, his bonds had never seemed so inescapable. No matter how much time had passed, he felt just as if he were fifteen again, shivering and naked beneath the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch, paralysed save for the burning throb around the alien object that impaled him. 

He had wanted to die then. But really, when hadn't he? Severus clearly remembered that, as he lay with his face in the nail-scored dirt turned muddy by his tears, he had reflected on every miserable second of his childhood and tried in vain to recall a time when he hadn’t wished he could just give up. When he hadn’t prayed to gods he didn’t but wanted to believe in to grant his easy wish to simply not wake in the morning. At the time, that desire had been made piercingly more urgent, though. Having to hear the monsters who had just destroyed him tormenting the girl he loved as he lay helpless had hurt him so deeply he had been numb with pain. Severus realised then he had never really wanted to _die_ , he simply had desperately wanted to stop living, if that is what living had to be. Continuing to exist had never seemed such an insurmountable burden as it had in that moment. 

Despite the walls he’d erected and the armoured shell he’d developed, despite the barriers he'd forged and reinforced around the incident in his mind in the years that followed, that feeling was as immediate and crystalline in his memory as if it had happened yesterday. And he realised that this same gasping, paralytic hopelessness he was feeling again with such clarity was what he had seen in Harry’s expression that night outside the Hogwarts Express. It was exactly this he had recognised beneath the young man’s breathless panic tonight. 

Surely _this_ was the reason he felt so connected to the boy, why he was so protective of him and so easily frustrated by Harry's stubborn, self-imposed isolation. Severus knew intimately what Harry was going through. He suspected he understood it much better than any of the others had the capacity even to imagine it. That empathy made Severus want to reach into Harry’s engulfing pain and take hold of his hand, which he imagined was clawing desperately for the surface. Severus, perhaps alone, understood that there was no surface. There was no up or down, no way to escape drowning in that encapsulating despair except for someone outside of it to reach in to pull one through it.

Severus had felt in the man's memory that Lupin had known Harry was struggling and had been overwhelmed by the desire to help him. But Severus knew the werewolf could not. He didn’t know how. He didn’t really know what Harry was feeling and so he couldn't know what he needed. Inexplicably, he contained too much optimism. Despite the hardships he’d endured, Lupin possessed too much hope. Severus doubted he’d stood on the same cliff edge he and Harry had. He may have drawn close and contemplated the view, but he surely hadn’t stood with his toes gripping the ledge and begged the Universe for a reason, any reason at all, not to jump.

The leap tempted Severus now more than it had in years. Perhaps the only thing saving him from taking it was knowing that Harry stood there with him, that Severus himself was responsible for his presence there, and that it was his responsibility to pull the young man to safety.

His resolve was sluggish, though. The chains that bound him were heavy. He might have taken considerably longer to throw them off if he hadn’t suddenly heard his name being shrieked through the fireplace upstairs.

It was unmistakably Loraina, and she was uncharacteristically frantic. Severus stood and stuffed himself back into his clothes, still working on his buttons as he quickly scaled his stairs, but when he reached the sitting room, Loraina was not there. The connection still existed and her sitting room was clearly visible, but she was not in it. Severus’ stomach was in knots as he bent to kneel in the hearth.

“Loraina?” he called.

“I thought you said you'd take care of the boy!” she hissed accusingly, her sudden materialisation in front of him giving him a nasty start.

“What are you talking about?” Severus asked apprehensively. His already tripping heart thumped even harder.  

“He's gone, Severus! He's in the Forest!” she cried, pacing back and forth. “Severus, they will have him! _He_ will have him. We must do something. The boy's my only chance!”

Her words made no sense to him. They terrified him, but he denied his panic a place in his thoughts and considered the plausibility of what she was saying. She clearly believed it, but Severus wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t said that Harry’d been taken, that they had him. She was saying they _will_ have him, as if he’d gone out alone and was in danger of capture. It sounded exactly like something the young man would do, but Severus knew Harry had no way of passing the wards alone. There was a very real danger in Hogwarts that night, but the school was vast, and it would do Harry no good for them to tear off in the wrong direction. He should never have allowed the boy to leave his presence, but he'd had little choice at the time. 

“Loraina, my love, slow down,” Severus urged. “How do you know this? Where's the Deputy Headmistress?”

“It doesn't matter, Sev!” she screeched. “There's no _time_. We have to go after him. Now. Before they get their hands on him.” Even as she said it, she turned to go and do just that.

“Cobs. Loraina!” Severus called frantically, seeing her make up her mind. He had to stop her. There was no proof the Castle had been breached, but they knew for a fact that the grounds and Forest had been compromised. If any of the Dark Lord’s operatives lingered, and she was seen, they were both as good as dead.

“Oh, blast it to hell,” he muttered as she moved away, forgetting him entirely. “For fuck's sake, Loraina, will you stop and listen to me!” But she was already through her door, slamming it behind her.

Severus stumbled back from his hearth overwhelmed by panic and indecision. Should he step through the hearth and follow her? Or should he floo to Minerva's quarters in search of her first? Something was terribly wrong. At best, someone--most likely Draco--was manipulating Loraina, but to what end beyond her death and Severus’ downfall? Obviously, Lucius knew. If he’d spied Loraina, he had to know Severus was unfaithful to the Dark Lord. But would it end with the two of them? Or did they have more ambitious plans?

His need to find Harry was suddenly all-consuming, and Severus felt certain he was not in the Forest. But Loraina was forcing Severus’ hand. He was the only one who could track or catch up to her. Besides the blood-chilling fear of what they would do to her, her discovery would endanger Severus; which concerned him mostly because it indirectly endangered Harry. Severus was the only buffer they had between the young man and the Dark Lord’s designs, however ineffectual he’d been in that lately.

Severus called up both the Headmaster’s office and Minerva’s quarters, but predictably the Deputy Headmistress was not to be found. He did not have time to locate her. He did not even have time to leave information on where he was going. Severus cursed loudly and at length as he burst from the floo in his office and tore through his door to make for the Forest. Loraina should have more sense than this! But the fear that her vicarious vengeance might be stripped from her was perhaps the only thing that might override her usual caution. The Malfoys had played their hand well. He had no choice but to follow her and hope the others looked after the boy...and to hope someone else intuited how to mend him afterwards, as there was every possibility Severus would not be coming back.

 _Gods damn it!_ Why did Severus have to grant his stingy affection to individuals with such an impulsive disregard for their own self-preservation? If he survived the night, between Loraina and Harry, Severus might die prematurely anyway from stress alone.  

 


	38. Villain, What Hast Thou Done?

**Before: Severus**

As Severus approached the Forest, an intense flash of light flared silently from deep within the trees ahead of him. Bright as it was, it was gone so quickly he doubted it would have been marked by anyone not already looking in that direction. If it was a spell, he couldn’t identify it. Severus slowed and approached the edge of the Forest with trepidation. Harry’s invisibility cloak would have been invaluable just now, and he cursed himself for having allowed the young man to make off with it.

Caution was needed, but it was difficult to practice, as Severus caught a familiar scent as soon as he stepped beneath the trees. There was no mistaking it, but he determined not to despair until he knew he had reason. Something about it was wrong. Besides, how would Harry have even gotten past the wards? It was true he was obnoxiously resourceful. But surely, _surely_ the boy had enough sense not to dive into the trees after Hagrid’s killers?

But they weren’t just Hagrid’s killers. They’d taken Weasley from him, as well. And his godfather. Of course he’d plunge headlong right into their hands. He might do so more cautiously than last time, but there was no question that he’d go. He was unfailingly predictable in his well-intentioned bad judgement. Severus took a deep breath to stave off the panic building inside him, but he still saw Harry in his mind’s eye, bound and helpless, bloody but defiant, completely naive of what awaited him; and Severus’ step faltered.

He clung to a nearby tree to steady himself and realised he was shaking. It was no good. He’d be no help to the young man if he let himself go to pieces. If Harry really was in the Forest, Severus would have to rescue him. If Loraina had been discovered, as well, his cover was blown regardless. The best he could hope for was to try to get them all out alive. And to do that, he had to get a hold on himself.

Severus made himself present. He concentrated on the quality of the air, on the sensation of the wind as it buffeted him. He focused on the feel of the ground beneath his feet made uneven by years of shed leaves. His heart slowed to a steady, reliable rhythm, and his vampiric senses, anticipating a hunt, engaged to take the process even further. Like mindfulness in overdrive, Severus was effortlessly aware of every shift of scent on the breeze. His sense of touch was hyper-sensitive, adjusting for the terrain instantly so that his footfall was silent. He could feel his pupils dilate, allowing him to see every edge with razor-sharp precision. Hearts glowed throughout the trees like embers in ash. Nothing was hidden. He would have been more comfortable without the full moon overhead painting every surface in bright silver, but still, Severus knew he was a force to be reckoned with.

Who needed an invisibility cloak? He was a fucking vampire.

Severus stalked through the trees with renewed confidence, following Harry’s scent; and now his heightened sense of smell allowed him to understand what was wrong with it. It was not the perfume rubbed deep into the fabric of Severus’ robes by the young man’s angry hands that night. It was too sweet. It was yesterday’s Harry. And it was strong. It bloomed from the side of this tree and then jumped to the next. Unless Harry staggered through the Forest, rubbing his chest against every trunk, it seemed far too deliberate. Not that that wasn’t possible. He had no idea what events might have led to the boy being here, if indeed he was. If Harry was hurt, he might have clung to them all for support as he made his way forward.

Severus disliked the thought of Harry being injured. The path was straight, though, and the young man wouldn’t have known where he was going, he would have cast about. Severus suspected Loraina had been lured here under false pretences, and she would have followed the trail with blind focus. It had all the earmarks of a trap. Strange that that would ease Severus’ mind, but it meant there was a possibility the young man was safe after all.

His former lover would be another matter. Severus picked up his pace. Sure enough, he eventually caught the scent of garlic. It overpowered his sense of smell and would mask Lucius’ and Draco’s scent unless they were close enough to be a danger, which was no doubt intentional. The wind was high, as well, kicking up fallen leaves and making the ones still clinging to their branches hiss and sigh. It made all other sounds difficult to differentiate. However, his eyesight was still keen, and he willed it even stronger. He felt his pupils open to their limit, like a cat’s when catching sight of a mouse, to let in as much information as possible. They wouldn't be able to sneak up on him easily; especially not in the clearing he neared, even though the moon flooded the dew covered grass like a sparkling pool of liquid silver. Their hearts, if not their scent, would herald their approach.

Severus hesitated to step into the open space, however. He drew just close enough to examine the stage the Malfoys had set. Through the last row of trees, Severus finally caught sight of Loraina, and his heart leapt to his throat. She was bound to a large tree directly across the clearing, necklaced with garlands of garlic. Despite the wind, the scent turned Severus' stomach even from that distance, and he knew she must be sick to weakness. Over her head, tangled in the limbs of the tree to which she was bound, were the tattered remains of the cardigan Harry had worn daily for weeks. Until tonight. He’d not been wearing it when Severus pulled him from the alcove, and he hadn’t worn it since, which is why its bouquet hadn’t been refreshed.

So that was their trick. Despite his worry for Loraina, Severus was flooded with relief. Harry was not actually here. They had their prize, with Severus being a potential bonus. Even if he didn’t follow in capture, his credibility with the Dark Lord was ruined. Lucius would still be able to return to the Death Eaters, to Voldemort’s open arms, like the prodigal son.

The wise thing to do would be to leave now and inform the Deputy Headmistress. They were obviously using Loraina as bait. But Severus felt a bit of Harry’s foolhardy determination awaken in him. He wasn’t willing to abandon her to the horrors the Dark Lord would visit on her, not unless he had no other choice. Severus inched closer to the clearing in order to better examine his options. By the time he saw the rune spell on the ground in front of him, glistening in the same silver as the moonlit grass, it was too late. The instant his boot touched it, a flash exploded like a silent grenade of pure light.

Though it dissipated almost instantaneously, it had been painfully bright to his hyper-sensitive eyesight. It blinded him utterly, was so intense it confused all the rest of his senses. He stumbled forward into the clearing, groping for something to cling to in order to orient himself, when he heard the disarming spell being uttered from somewhere behind him and felt his wand leap from his hand.  

Severus fell to his knees, sightless and wandless. He didn't even attempt to escape. He knew he was finished. He should have turned back, but it was too late now, regardless. The only consolation he had was that Harry was not a part of this debacle.

A fucking rune. Severus had been defeated by a flash of fucking light, of all things. Runes spells were far too advanced for Draco to have set. Not that there had been any doubt before, but Lucius confirmed his presence by bending close to Severus’ ear to gloat.

“Now, isn’t this touching?” He sounded almost sincere with his refined, pureblood lilt. “When I spied the bloody white Witch in your company after I visited Draco on the train, I wasn’t sure if you held the same fondness for her that you did when we were all one, big Dark family. Clearly, you do. How precious. You know, I would have been content delivering just the Heretic, but to have snagged the Traitor, as well... Yes, I expect Our Lord will be very forgiving. Well. Of one of us.”

Severus had never hated him more. Lucius had always disgusted him, dressing his base prejudice in high-minded, puritanical ideology; but now Severus’ revulsion tipped over to proper loathing. Lucius Malfoy, the arsehole whose craven self-interest had cost the lives of Aurors and Death Eaters alike just weeks ago, had out-crafted the double agent...through _sentiment_. Severus’ eyesight recovered enough for him to give Lucius his most caustic glare. The villain looked far too filthy to be so fucking smug. Even in rags, he was insufferably aristocratic.      

“Oh my. He doesn’t look pleased at all. Draco, why don’t you reunite our two lovebirds while I finish making the preparations,” he drawled. “You don’t mind sharing a cage, do you?” he asked in a confidential whisper, as if he truly cared about Severus’ comfort or expected him to answer. Despite his current helplessness, Severus very almost launched himself at the bastard.

Lucius disappeared into the trees as the young man he’d addressed stepped into view, smirking in self-satisfaction as he pointed his wand at his kneeling Head of House.

“You heard my father,” Draco said, digging Severus sharply with his toe, seemingly giddy to find himself in such a position of power over him. “On your feet. There’s someone who’s _dying_ to see you,” he sneered.

Severus pulled himself from the ground reluctantly. He tried to convey his disappointment in the boy through his sick expression, but if Draco had ever cared about the man’s approval, it didn’t show. It was such a shame. Narcissa had tried so hard to save her son from his father. She may have a weakness for status and wealth, but Severus suspected Narcissa had not bargained for her family’s entanglement with Lord Voldemort when she agreed to marry the Malfoy heir. She was far too fond of Andromeda to subscribe to Lucius’ level of fanaticism. Draco was clearly talented, as well, to have achieved so much alone at Hogwarts, even if it was largely orchestrated by his father. He could have been a valuable soldier for the Order. Now he was wasted to the Dark Lord’s service. Severus suspected he’d take his Mark as soon as they returned to the fiend's court. It wasn’t entirely too late, however. As the young man marched him across the clearing, Severus felt he had to at least attempt to reason with him.

“Draco, are you certain you’ve thought this through?” he asked sadly.

“You aren’t talking your way out of this, Severus,” Draco spat. It was intentionally disrespectful. Severus wondered where his venom came from. He couldn’t possibly truly understand his situation. Severus found he couldn’t focus on the problem, however. The shifting wind blasted the scent of garlic at him and he winced, scowling in the direction it had come from to find Loraina had noticed their approach.

She looked dolefully up at him through her sickness and hung limply in her bonds, too weak to rely on her legs. The apology in her expression made her look even more pitiable. Severus couldn’t find it in him to be angry with her. He’d been playing a dangerous game for a long while. It was only a matter of time that he found himself in this situation. At least they wouldn’t be meeting their fate alone.     

“I always was a bit rash, wasn’t I, love?” she muttered with a feeble, self-deprecating smile. “You’d have thought I’d learned my lesson the last time, though.”

Severus gave her a forgiving look and made to reach for her, but Draco stabbed him sharply in the ribs with the tip of his wand.

“No funny stuff,” he warned. He’d slipped a rope of garlic round his neck and held out another clearly intended for Severus.

“Go on, _Professor_ ,” Draco addressed him sneeringly. “Put it on.”

Severus eyed the thing with dread. His stomach already roiled and the infection in his blood recoiled from the substance, making his whole body itch. He knew he had no choice in the matter, though. It took an immense force of will to extend his hand and accept the string of garlic, and an even stronger will to place it over his head.

“Draco,” he said, weakly, “you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to take the same path your father took. There’s still time for you.”

“Shut your filthy, traitorous mouth!” Draco spat in response, blunting Severus’ sympathy for him. “My father’s ‘path’ was just fine until the prison break. I’ll bet you were the reason the Ministry showed up in the first place. _You’re_ the reason Father fell out with the Dark Lord.”

Severus was not so sick or beaten yet that he could allow Draco’s insulting tone to go unanswered.

“Your father ‘fell out’ with the Dark Lord because once he managed to obtain a wand after the dementors let him out of his cell, instead of helping the others, he _ran away_ ,” Severus hissed back. “His cowardice is not my doing,” he sneered. Their situation was already hopeless. He saw no reason to kerb his tongue now. The worst Draco could do to him would be child’s play compared to what the Dark Lord held in store. And maybe, just maybe he could disabuse Draco of the delusion of Lucius’ exceptionalism.

“My father is _not_ a coward,” Draco insisted, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white around his wand. Severus shied from it slightly but his hard, critical glare did not falter. “You’re the coward. You’re afraid of the greatness the Dark Lord envisions, playing both sides until you’re sure which one will come out ahead. Well, let me save you some suspense,” he spat. “Once Potter is out of the way, which should be in fairly short order, the Dark Lord will rise victorious, and Father and I will be at his Right Hand.”

Severus scoffed. If they thought removing the Potions Master from the equation was going to open a direct path to the Boy Who Lived, they were even more deluded than he thought. As soon as Albus realised what had happened, he’d lock Harry away once and for all; so far from their grasp they’d not see him again until the day he emerged to throw down their precious Lord. In fact, as miserable as that would be for the young man, at least Harry would finally be safe. It should have been done long before now. Maybe Severus’ capture would turn out to be the best thing for Harry in the end. Perhaps his sacrifice would be worthy, could help pay the debt he owed the young man.  

Severus was just contemplating actually spelling this all out for the younger Malfoy when Loraina’s head snapped up, and she cried out as if being tortured. It only took Severus a moment to realise what had upset her. The wind had changed, carrying on it the sharp scent of Harry’s very current personal perfume.

 _No_.  

Loraina’s eyes sought out Severus’, and they shared a look of misery and defeat. Then Severus’s eyes drifted shut and he wilted under the weight of his despair. If it would not have given their captors so much satisfaction, he might have fallen to his knees and wept. Severus felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the world. Harry was here. It didn’t matter why or how. He was here and Severus could not protect him, and the man had never felt more a failure.   

“ _Ah_ ,” Draco said with an oily smile, understanding their anguish as, obviously, this had been part of his plan all along. “Now we can _finally_ get on with things. Father?”

There was a brief struggle in the trees behind Draco before Lucius emerged from them with Harry firmly in his grasp, the point of his wand digging into the underside of the young man’s jaw.

“ _Well done_ , Draco,” Lucius drawled, clearly impressed as he marched Harry into the clearing.

“Told you he’d show if we waited long enough,” Draco said, clearly chuffed. “Why go to the trouble of dragging him out, kicking and screaming, when he’ll just come running to us?”

“The Dark Lord will be _most_ pleased,” Lucius intoned. “You’ve done exceedingly well, my son. I never doubted you had it in you.”

As Draco preened, Harry cast a panicked, apologetic gaze in Severus’ direction. But Severus could not give him the reassurance he seemed to seek. The only thing Severus was able to convey was his unutterable sadness.

“Harry,” he murmured quietly. “What have you done?”

“What he’s done is delivered the Malfoy family back into the good graces of our benevolent Lord,” Lucius sneered at Severus. Then he smiled down at Harry. “And we are most grateful to you for that, Mister Potter. How very selfless of you.”

Harry looked away, unable to hold Severus’ gaze. The man wished he would, though. Much as he hated seeing Harry at Lucius’ mercy, Severus wanted to memorise the sight of him while he was still whole. He knew the Dark Lord would force him to watch as he made the young man otherwise.

Damn it! _Why did they not all have cyanide capsules?_

But no. They weren’t dead yet. The odds were against them, but there was a chance they could find a way out of this. Severus had to believe it. The alternative was too unbearable to entertain.

Loraina began to struggle against her bonds, snarling like a wild animal--something that seemed to amuse the Malfoys to no end--but everyone knew it was fruitless, and she soon sagged again in surrender.

“You were my one chance at finally killing the fiend, Harry,” she lamented. “But you aren’t ready, and now all is lost.”

“Quite right,” Lucius began, but she cut him off, still addressing Harry.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t still spit in his face,” she said, giving Harry a smile that concerned Severus. “Do you remember the secret I shared with you, Little One?”

What was she doing? This was no time to play games. Fortunately, Harry seemed to have no idea what she was talking about.

“Surprised you can still talk,” Draco said, bemused by her audacity. “Shut it, though, will you?”

She dismissed Draco with a sneer, keeping her wild eyes focused on Harry. “Our little _secret_ , Harry. I think it’s time we shared it.”

Severus suddenly understood what she as referring to. “Loraina,” he warned. “This is not wise. You’re too weak.”

“I suggest _you all_ silence yourselves, before something unfortunate happens to our dear Mister Potter here,” Lucius said tersely, digging his wand deeper into Harry’s neck and causing him to wince. Severus didn’t know when he’d have the chance, but he resolved he _would_ murder the bastard. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“Ha!” Loraina smirked wearily. “You aren't going to kill any of us, Lucius. Least of all _him_. The Dark Lord would have your skin. Probably literally.”

“You know, Rainey. I don't believe I mentioned killing,” Lucius said, distaste thick in his voice. He tightened his grip on Harry and withdrew his wand from Harry’s throat to turn it on Loraina. Severus bristled at the threat to her, but she simply chuckled darkly.

“You think I'm unfamiliar with torture? Pain and I are old friends. Unlike the two of us, _Lucy,_ ” she sneered. “You don't frighten me.” She looked to Harry again. “Our secret, Little Harry. Why don't you tell it to Draco?” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Harry gasped, and she smiled seeing the light of comprehension in his eyes. Severus followed their silent exchange with increasing alarm. He narrowed his eyes at the young man.

“Harry,” Severus said firmly. “ _Don’t._ ” The last time he’d cast the spell, it had rendered him unconscious. Harry needed to be able to run, if the opportunity arose.   

“Don’t do what?” Draco said, growing uneasy after the mention of his name. He shifted his wand from Severus to Loraina and back again.

“It isn't as if it matters at this point, my love,” Loraina shrugged casually to Severus. “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we can.”

“ _Loraina-_ ”

“And it might make _you_ feel better, Harry, to unburden your soul.” She cackled, making Severus want to pull out his hair. “We can tell him together!” she gasped as if the idea had just occurred to her and appealed to her greatly. Harry steeled himself and nodded. Severus was beside himself. He had to stop them.

“ _No_ , Harry, wait!” he cried. But Loraina had already cast, slicing through her bonds. The spell struck Draco, but she was so weak it did little more than scratch him deeply, shredding his shirt. Still, he cried out in shock, throwing both his hands over his bleeding ribs, dropping his wand in the process and, as a result, his cover on Severus.

Now loose, Loraina ignored the injured boy and sprinted on unsteady legs for Lucius who was already drawing back to cast a spell of his own, almost forgetting Harry entirely. Severus saw his chance. He was ill, but he was determined. With Harry free and Loraina providing a distraction, Severus might be able to save Harry after all. If only he could reach him. Nothing in his life had ever seemed more important. Severus ran toward Harry, but the garlic around his neck made him feel as if he were sprinting through gelatin. It wasn’t going to work. Severus pushed himself as hard as he could, but he saw Loraina fall from the corner of his eye. He could not let that grief touch him. He looked to Harry, saw the resolve in his eye, and then a fraction of a second later he saw the young man’s panicked desperation as a second spell left Lucius’ wand.

Then suddenly, Severus saw nothing at all.


	39. He That Wounded Him Hath Hurt Me More Than Had He Killed Me Dead

**Before: Severus**

_Rennervate!_

Severus was confused. The surface beneath him was hard and cold. Was he on the floor? Why was he on the floor?

_Rennervate!_

His slow crawl back to consciousness was strange for a Rennervate. The spell usually yanked one more violently into lucidity.

_Crucio!_

Fuck. Severus was at least alert enough to recognise what came after that word and to dread. He prepared himself, but the pain never came. Severus was relieved but puzzled.  

“ _Crucio! Crucio! RENNERVATE!_ Wake up and scream, damn you!”

Severus came to himself all at once. His eyes flew open, but his vision swam, upsetting his stomach, so he closed them again.

He couldn’t see, but abruptly, he remembered. He remembered Malfoys and runes. Garlic and moonlight. He remembered spells and blood and...and _Harry_. His thoughts were murky. He sensed no garlic nearby, but its scent and its poison lingered on his robes and in his system. Severus struggled to raise himself up, but his limbs were weak and he only made it as far as his elbows before his arms gave way and he found himself flat of his back again.

He had to get up, though. Lucius had them, and it was not Severus he was casting on.

_Where was Harry?_

Severus managed to stumble woozily to his feet. While his mind was rapidly waking, the residual garlic sickness made his body unwieldy. He detected motion nearby and turned to it. The blurred image of Harry laying on the floor some feet away shifted in and out of focus. It wasn’t Harry that had moved, though. Lucius paced back and forth beside him. His frenetic actions contributed to Severus’ nausea, but they didn’t make him reel as much as what happened next.

“ _Crucio!_ ” the elder Malfoy shouted. Severus watched in horror as Harry’s body became rigid, his back bowing, lifting him partially from the ground. But then he fell limp again when the spell released him. He had never opened his eyes, never uttered a sound. Severus’ adrenaline helped to flush the poison from his system and gave him better control of his limbs. He launched himself at Lucius only to collide painfully with what he found were metal bars. He reached through them in Harry’s direction, but he was much too far away to reach him. He wanted to call out his name, but no sound escaped his lips.

“Rennervate!” Lucius howled. He hadn’t even cast that time, he only bent over Harry and shouted the word at the top of his lungs before kicking the young man sharply in the side. Severus was incensed but powerless. When Harry failed to react, Lucius cast Cruciatus again, causing Harry’s otherwise lifeless body to writhe and twitch. The sight robbed Severus of breath.

Was the young man dead?  

 _Oh, gods._ Please _. Please, don’t be dead._

Severus shook his head to clear his vision and tried to see if Harry’s heart still glowed, but there was too much light in the room. If he did live, Lucius would surely kill him if he did not cease using the Unforgivable. Severus could see it on the man’s lips as he drew back to cast again. He had to do something.

“Lucius!”

His voice was thick and sluggish, had not wanted to cooperate, but Severus forced its compliance. It was less word than noise, but it served its purpose. Lucius turned his attention away from the stubbornly motionless teenager at his feet and whirled on Severus.

Lucius’ eyes were wild and ringed with red, and his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles seemed about to burst from the strain. Severus could almost swear he frothed at the mouth. There was no sign left of the well-heeled aristocrat. He was a filthy, sore-ridden junky, lousy with Mut, there was no doubt of it. But this was more. He looked insane and not just high; decidedly dangerous. Still, if not for the bars separating them, Severus would have charged the bastard, wand or no. His hands could kill a man just as well as any spell. Severus chose to ignore the fact that his cage was the only thing keeping him upright. He’d rend the arsehole limb from limb, if only he could reach him. His whole body trembled with the desire to do so. Severus blasted his murderous intent at Lucius with each panted breath, baring his fangs at him with a low growl in case there was some question.  

Lucius was unconcerned. “He won’t scream,” he told Severus in a surprisingly reasonable tone, pointing down at Harry for emphasis. His voice was still refined and it was jarringly incongruous to his appearance. “I only want to hear him scream, but he won’t wake up,” he complained. “He’s killed my only son,” he went on, his voice rising, “he at least could have the decency to wake up and SCREAM!” He finished in a bellow before turning back to Harry and hitting him with a succession of spells.

Severus was beside himself. He yanked on his bars. If he was well, he might have managed to wrench the rusty rods from their anchors, but at the moment, he was still too weak.  

“No! Stop,” he choked out past the bile that rose in the back of his throat. “Lucius, stop!” he gasped, but it was lost in the pop and hiss of exploding curses.

“Please,” he added in a quiet sob, sliding down the bars to his knees.

“Please,” he whispered to himself, setting his forehead against the metal that imprisoned him. He wasn't aware he had been weeping until he closed his eyes in anguish and felt fresh tears stream down already established tracks on his cheeks.

Lucius did stop, but only because he seemed to have winded himself. The man stumbled back from Harry and collapsed into a nearby chair, laying his head in his hands as he attempted to catch his breath. It gave Severus his first opportunity since waking to concentrate on anything besides the drowning frustration of his impotence. He fell to a seat on the stone floor and leaned his back against his cage, trying to wrangle his own breathing into a normal rhythm. If he didn’t stop hyperventilating, he’d soon pass out.

What was it Lucius had said? That Draco was dead?

So, Harry had managed to cast his spell, after all.

 _Fuck_.

The fool. Besides inciting Lucius' vengeance, Harry would hate himself for the rest of his life for having killed the poor, misguided boy...provided they survived the night. For all his spitfire, Harry was far too sensitive for murder. Which was one of the reasons his fate made Severus so bitter. They expected Harry to kill Voldemort, for fuck’s sake. Even if they managed to deliver the young man to the task intact, Severus worried the act would kill him, whether he survived or not.  

Lucius’ inability to rouse him, and the fact that he still seemed to be breathing, led Severus to believe Harry’s protective spells were still in place, but their effects were not infinite. There was no telling how long Lucius had been trying to wake him, or how long he’d held him under Cruciatus. Harry would wake eventually. Severus just dearly hoped that didn’t happen until Lucius tired and left. In fact, if Severus could not find them a way out of this predicament, it might be best if the young man never woke at all. No protective magic would be able to save him once Lucius finally handed them over to the Dark Lord. Whatever damage Lucius managed to inflict in the meantime would seem tame in comparison. 

Severus glanced about him with dread at the various medieval-looking devices arranged around the room. He recognised where they were, and the knowledge did not inspire optimism. He’d hoped never to return to this place, and he certainly had never expected to find himself on this side of the cage door. Severus doubted that this torture chamber had been employed since the last Wizarding War, but it had been used often at that time. The Dark Lord had made extensive use of the Malfoys’ sprawling dungeon complex when he was in power, though only a portion of it. It was vast, older than the Manor House. It riddled the ground beneath the estate and spilled past its borders in certain places. Some parts extended down, as well, and they were in one of the deepest, most remote of the dungeons. Lord Voldemort had favoured it, because even if one of his captives managed to escape, they’d never, ever find their way out of the stone warren alive.

Severus shuddered. He, at least, was familiar with the passages. Perhaps even more familiar than Lucius. This was where the Dark Lord had locked him after Loraina’s rebellion while he deliberated whether to trust Severus again. And he had taken his bloody time about it, too.

Severus wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d spent in this abominable place, scouring the corridors of rats. His body had felt the setting of a sun he could not see, but Severus lost count of the days. It was long enough that he very nearly lost himself. He had almost ceased to be Severus, had almost become thirst incarnate, a mindless revenant beyond recall. After a while, the Dark Lord began loosing prisoners there to die at Severus’ hand. He was never sure if it’d been intended as a kindness or a punishment.

Most likely it was simply a game, something the Dark Lord found amusing. Severus had always suspected the fiend had watched somehow. He was far enough gone at the time that he had no clear idea how many men and women he’d murdered in these tunnels. It might have been five or fifteen, he had no way to reckon it. He still saw them sometimes in his nightmares. It was one of the reasons why he slept so seldomly, and also why he had sworn off hunting, even of animals, choosing to rely solely on Substisanguinus. His one consolation was knowing they would all have died anyway. Severus was merely Voldemort’s chosen instrument of execution for a time.

Some tearful murmuring caught Severus’ attention and he looked over to find that Lucius was no longer sitting. He stooped over a table at the far end of the chamber which Severus had not noticed before. Lucius stroked a cropped cascade of red-stained, white blond hair.

Draco.

But the boy was not alone there. A house elf tended him, her hands glowing gold with the spell she cast over the young man’s motionless body. Her expression was tender when she looked at the face of her charge, but she threw frequent fearful glances up at her master. 

“Is it working?” Lucius asked her quietly. He did not look at her. He stared down at his son, spilling unmarked tears onto Draco’s cheeks. The house elf was hesitant to answer, and Severus could see her tremble.

“He is broken bad, Master,” she answered timidly. “Mipsy is trying.”

“If he dies, I’ll kill you,” Lucius said plainly. It held no venom, was not personal, was simply a statement of fact. This seemed to have been already understood by Mipsy. She nodded and concentrated even harder on her task.

Draco wasn’t dead after all, only grievously wounded. Severus was flooded with relief. Not only was he alive, he was yet unMarked. There was still hope for him. There was still hope for all of them if Severus could think of a way to manage it. He searched the rest of the cages in the chamber, but he did not see Loraina. Though, surely she was close. Lucius would have wanted to deliver them all alive, and soon, else the Dark Lord would consider it a theft. Which meant Lucius couldn’t hurt them too badly either, or he would face the Dark Lord’s wrath. Lord Voldemort would not want to be deprived of any of their screams.

At least, this was undoubtedly the original plan. Lucius seemed to be contemplating other options. How much was his life really worth to him if his son died? He turned back to Harry with murder in his eyes. Apparently, he’d caught a second wind. Severus had to do something. He had to buy Harry a longer reprieve, and the only way he knew to do it was to keep Lucius talking. With any luck, at the very least, he’d decide Severus was a preferable target for his spells. Better that the Potions Master bore the brunt of Lucius' violent grief.

“Lucius, you can’t,” he said, suddenly calm. The man transferred his bloodthirsty focus to Severus.

“Oh, but I think I can,” he responded smoothly. “Who’s going to stop me? You?”

Severus sighed wearily. “If you kill him, the Dark Lord will kill you. If Draco manages to survive, he’ll kill him, as well. In fact, he’d likely keep you alive just long enough to make you watch it. You know this.” Severus was careful to avoid any indication that he was concerned about Harry himself, otherwise Lucius would harm him for spite.  

“And if Draco dies?” Lucius demanded. “Not as if I have much to lose then, wouldn’t you agree? No one knows you’re here. By the time Dumbledore lets on to anyone outside your little rebellion that his precious saviour isn’t coming back, I could be halfway round the world.”      

“Lucius, your son yet lives,” Severus reasoned. “You have to take him to St. Mungo’s.”

“And hand myself over to the Aurors?” Lucius growled as if he thought Severus was mad.

“Which is worth more to you?” Severus scowled. “Draco’s life or your freedom?” Lucius winced, but he still clutched his wand too tightly for Severus’ liking. “If you don’t get him care, he _will_ die, and it will have been your fault, not Potter’s.”  

Lucius glared at him and Severus held his bloodshot gaze unflinchingly. Then Lucius let out a roar of frustration, tearing at his matted hair.

“It was almost perfect!” he shrieked, stomping over to Severus’ cage. Severus didn't react except to raise a bemused look up at him. “Weeks of planning! _Weeks_ of scrounging around in that godforsaken forest owling coded letters to that crackpot to publish!” The man blasted spittle and rage with every word. “All of it _wasted_ , just because your fucking whore decided to be clever.

"I've always hated the both of you," said Lucius. "Filthy, unnatural creatures. The Dark Lord should have put you down the minute you came limping back from Romania. What good is pure blood if it's diseased? And yours isn't even pure! I swear to you, if she survives the garlic, I’ll skin her alive in front of you. The boy alone will be more than enough to earn my forgiveness, and the Dark Lord is too good for her,” he finished in a dark hiss.

Inwardly Severus seethed, but he did not respond. Lucius scowled at him as if he had, though, and suddenly blasted the lock to Severus’ cage with a spell so powerful it exploded in shards that stung Severus’ face before he could duck for cover.

“Get up,” Lucius commanded roughly.

Severus kept an apprehensive eye on Lucius’ wand as he complied. He moved slowly to avoid provoking the man, as the tip of his wand trembled as if a curse fought to be freed from it and its owner was only barely holding it back. He did not raise his hands, though. He wasn’t going to give Lucius the satisfaction of seeing his fear. If Harry’s life did not also hang in the balance, he might not have obeyed at all. Severus glanced down at the young man as Lucius marched him past Harry and toward the door.

“Don’t worry,” the man told him, “he’s coming with us.”

With his wand still trained on Severus, Lucius reached down blindly to grasp a fistful of Harry’s jumper and drag him with them through the exit. He shouldn’t have been strong enough. Harry was practically as tall as Severus and more robust. But with the amount of Mut running through his system, Lucius might have been able to hoist them both.

Lucius directed him down the corridor, and Severus couldn’t help wondering whether each cell they passed held Loraina or not. Her absence unsettled him. He couldn't rescue what he could not find.

“Where is Cobs?” he asked finally, unable to hold back the question any longer.

“Somewhere else,” Lucius barked, casting a Dissendium at the nearest cell to open it. It was so strong the door bounced off the inner wall with a bang and drifted almost back to a close.

“ _Get_ _in_.”

Severus hesitated, though Lucius was clearly in no mood to be trifled with. Severus would not be talking himself out of the command. But if he lost sight of Harry, he might never see him again. If he allowed himself to be locked away, he could do nothing to save him. Allowing Lucius to kill him now wouldn’t help the young man, either, but it seemed a risk he was going to have to take. The torchlight from the torture chamber was distant and dim. It was dark enough in the corridor that Severus could finally see the radiance of Harry’s heart pulsing vitality in glowing filaments throughout the young man’s body. Severus held the advantage of sight, but garlic sickness still weighted his limbs. His odds were not good.

But before he could decide a course of action, before Lucius could lose his patience at Severus’ dithering, a small, frightened voice carried down the stone passage from the room they’d left behind.

“Master Lucius! Come quick! Master Draco, he is not breathing!”

Severus literally watched the blood drain from Lucius’ face. Its light faded, leaving his features dimmed and muted in the darkness. He no longer waited for Severus to obey.

“ _Everte Statum!_ ” Severus was thrown backwards into the cell, landing hard and sliding to the far wall. As he struggled to pick himself up, Lucius tossed Harry carelessly into the cell with him before yanking the door shut and, presumably, sprinting back toward his dying son.


	40. Blazoning Our Injustice

**Before: Remus**

His transition to lucidity was achingly slow. Remus had been taking Wolfsbane long enough to take that part of it for granted, to forget that the struggle back to himself was just as painful, in its own way, as the physical transformation. He felt bruised mentally as well as physically, but then, he’d deserved a swift punch to the jaw after what he’d allowed to happen, at the very least; and since all of his friends were too civilised to deliver it, he’d had to blacken himself in the only way he knew how.

It had been years since he’d felt this raw of spirit, though, and Remus realised he’d miscalculated when he’d sentenced himself to this punishment. It had not been intended to be so debilitating. His descent into mindlessness stirred the dregs, and resurfacing brought with it memories of countless other mornings like this one; mornings when he struggled to shake off the wolf, when the dawn light illuminated fledgeling scars. Remus was reminded sharply of a time before the comforts of Wolfsbane. And he was reminded, as well, that his monthly trial was once only made tolerable by the kindnesses of his small community of fellow unfortunates, before that community had been decimated.

Remus rolled to his back, still bleeding, and languished in nostalgia. He hadn’t thought about Dogtown for a long while, despite the fact that it served as his sanctuary for years after Voldemort fell. The suppression hadn’t been intentional, he didn’t think. He had never been one to run from the pain of his past. He simply hadn’t had reason to remember the place or the people he'd loved there for quite some time. It had been so unique that nothing reminded him of it. Though, the fresh lacerations on his skin seemed to chastise him now for his forgetfulness.

Remus had refused to move back home after graduating Hogwarts. He hadn’t wanted to be a burden to his father, as he had been to his mother. Remus knew his father loved him, but he also knew his father considered Remus’ lycanthropy the real cause of his wife’s death. Hope had given birth to Remus late in life, and the strain of his care and the sympathetic pain she felt for her son during his transformations took its toll. After she fell ill, Lyall Lupin once remarked bitterly to his son that, though Remus was the one bleeding the morning after, his mother was the one most wounded.

Remus understood that his father did not blame him personally. The truth was that his father blamed himself. The senior Lupin had been the one to anger Greyback and inspire his revenge in the form of Remus’ infection. He felt he had cursed his son and ultimately killed his wife. Remus’ presence was a constant reminder of his guilt and remorse, and after Remus’ mother died, his father’s disposition had been so fragile that Remus decided he presented a real danger to him. The man had done his duty in seeing his son to adulthood, and Remus felt he should be absolved of further responsibility.

James and Sirius would hear none of this ‘striking out on one’s own’ nonsense, however. They knew as well as Remus did how hard such a thing was for a werewolf. Besides, they were both obscenely well off. They had promised Remus that they would care for him, that he would want for nothing while they lived, and Remus had dared to look forward to his future.

But then James had been killed; and Sirius was sent to Azkaban for his role in it, which was a kind of death. He was certainly dead to Remus. Overnight, it seemed, the young werewolf had been left with almost nothing. He’d had no choice then but to gather his few belongings and drag them and himself to the rundown warren of hovels dubbed as Dogtown, where those of his kind were expected to banish themselves when all other options were spent.

Dogtown was a destitute and largely unregulated corner of the Wizarding community, which the Ministry and the world at large ignored almost completely except when its denizens attempted to leave it. Shuffling through the gate in the perimeter walls for the first time, Remus had instantly felt intimidated and naive. He hadn’t properly realised until that moment what it meant for someone with his affliction to face the world without the support of family or friends. He was readily admitted, and with a smile; but with that exception, it had almost felt like his first day of prison.

The first order of business had been his assignment to an Alpha, and under that Alpha's roof he was given a bed and introduced to his packmates. His welcome had not been hostile, but it was not warm, either. He felt sorely out of place. His new companions seemed almost to enjoy educating Remus on the depths to which he'd fallen, and his orientation was grim and full of warnings and admonitions.

Within its walls, he was told, Dogtown's laws were its own. The Ministry didn’t care if they killed each other provided that they did it privately and unnoticed by the Muggles. And they did kill each other, Remus was to find; for reasons that often seemed petty to him before he came to better understand both the place in which they lived and the creatures that they were.

Though he'd been infected nearly fifteen years prior, Remus realised he knew surprisingly little about being a werewolf. All his knowledge seemed academic compared to the realities of living among his own kind. Remus had never been one to embrace his condition. His new friends, however, found no shame in what they were. Their attitude of self-acceptance would eventually help Remus make peace with his own nature. Some, though, took that acceptance farther than others.

There were differing opinions on the wisdom of intentionally summoning the wolf outside the Full. Most, if they even possessed the strength of will to induce a change, did not have confidence in their ability to truly return. They warned Remus that each time it was dared, a werewolf would bring back a bit more of the beast with him until nothing remained of the man. They told him stories of feral humans, wolves in all but form, who had to be 'handled'.

Several residents didn't seem to mind flirting with that risk from time to time, though, especially when competing for position. 'In the wild’ competing Alphas were meant to splinter off and form their own groups when tensions reached a breaking point, but none of them had anywhere else to go. Since they were all trapped together, they'd had to invent a new system. It had the distinct essence of a mafia. Alphas would be crowned and toppled, it wasn’t possible to turn off the instinct. But too much infighting for dominance put them at risk of discovery by the Muggles or retaliation by the Ministry. There was a way to go about things, and those who were too reckless were dealt with. Still, the transfer of power among those so inclined often was determined with fur and fang.

It terrified Remus, especially since he knew there was more than one position to be vied for within a pack, and he was at the very bottom of the pecking order. His strength was quieter than others’, but he had never been a coward. He knew in his heart he was no Omega. He did not intend to stay one for long.

It turned out that the only thing the Ministry provided their community with any hint of generosity was means of containment. Reinforced doors and special locks spelled to open and close as the full moon rose and set--both in their homes and on the main gate--prevented chaos and bloodshed on the Full.

The Ministry’s concern apparently ended there, though. Besides being left to police themselves, Dogtown’s overwhelming medical needs were its own affair, as well. Each house had a Den Mother who tended a medicinal herb garden and treated ailments as much with superstition as with magic or medical science, and it was she who typically saw to it that her charges did not die of infection due to the Ministry’s apathy.  

They weren’t entirely ignored, though, Remus soon learned to his chagrin. There were occasional Ministry raids which were unannounced and otherwise completely unconstitutional. But then the laws of the Wizarding World did not apply to them beyond those designed to bring them to heel. It was rarely clear what they were searching for besides unregistered newcomers, but they would cut open sacks of provisions. They would empty drawers and rip the stuffing from mattresses. It was as if they thought the wolves might be hiding stowaways in twenty-pound bags of beans or flour.

Though it was never discussed, everyone knew what the real purpose of the raids was, and Remus had had to develop a deep patience in order to be able to stand and watch without comment as enforcement officers soiled and ruined what little he and his friends owned. ‘You are powerless’, that is what their smirks would say. ‘We can do whatever we want.’ ‘Remember your place.’

Remus had always been one to make the best of things, however, and to see the good in those around him. It was true that Dogtown was squalid and ramshackle. It was dangerous and intimidating, at least at first glance. But, for all its faults and miseries, once he worked out how to navigate it, Remus found it to be a haven, as well. He opened his mind and his heart to Dogtown, and it soon embraced him.

Unlike the outside world where they faced abuse and ostracization, there they had the freedom of being themselves openly with total acceptance and understanding from those around them. The men and women Remus lived among became much more than neighbours. They were more than packs that comprised a tribe. They were families that made up a community, and life was not unpleasant so long as one had no larger aspirations. They found joy in companionship, learned to find happiness in simplicity. They all carried the same burden, after all. Rags were not embarrassing when everyone wore them. You would not be jeered for the patches on your coat in Dogtown, but would likely be complimented on the precision of your stitching. His brothers and sisters were charitable because they knew the sting of deprivation. In between posturing and skirmishes for position, kindness abounded. For the most part, his people knew their place in the world and found ways to make peace with their lot.

For the most part.

Charles Blackfur had been different. His family lived on the other side of Dogtown, but Remus was familiar with him. He’d interacted with him during a number of monthly community meetings and, though they sometimes butted heads, Remus admired the man's integrity. Like Remus, he had reached his position without ruthlessness or unnecessary violence, and Remus liked to think they set an example for other aspiring Alphas.

Despite this comparable moderation, Charles almost ignited a civil war.

He did nothing so very terrible, really. He was simply discontent, and he had the audacity to voice it. Their microcosm functioned well, but it was a delicate thing, predicted on silent obedience to the powers that be. Charles upset that balance by daring to raise aloud the questions that they all thought but never spoke: Why must they live in such squalor? Why, if they were barred employment in almost any line of work that might provide an adequate living, did the Ministry not better provide for their needs? If they were not to be given Wolfsbane, why were they not given medical resources after the Full?

The High Alpha was a good man, but he was old and stuck in his ways. He had fought long and hard to negotiate what little assistance they received. Diplomacy with the Ministry was not easy, and he was convinced the government would as soon poison the lot of them as allocate a single knut more than it did already. The heads of other families objected to Charles’ boldness, as well, fearing that, if they dared complain, the raids would come more often and be more severe. They had little enough as it was.

Charles persevered. He succeeded in convincing enough other Alphas (Remus being one of them) that something must be done. He argued that they were committing a disservice to their families by allowing them to live in such conditions, and that it would be better to risk retaliation in an effort to improve their lot than to continue to meekly accept injustice. They had to stand up for themselves, there was no one else to fight for them.

Finally, with only a reluctant blessing from the High Alpha, Charles took their grievances to London. But for all his good intentions and determination, Charles was not a politician. The rousing speeches and dominant demeanour that played well to the wolven instincts of his kindred were not suited to the quieter and more nuanced arena of official governance. He was far too honest. His passion was considered aggression. The Ministry saw him as dangerous, more terrorist than activist, as if wanting a better life was a revolutionary threat.

Remus was one of those with him when he plead their case in a special hearing before Magical Parliament, but it was obvious before he even began that they would get nowhere. The hate and disgust displayed by most of their audience were almost a physical force that made Remus want to fold his ears and slink away. He wasn't entirely convinced they'd even be allowed to leave the building unmolested.

When he got no concession from the Ministry, Charles took their case to the people, instead. The interview the Prophet published was not unbiased and read like Ministry propaganda. Still, the swell of support it triggered among non-werewolves surprised everyone, even Charles and his followers...and it made the Ministry nervous.

The wolves were naive enough to think that was a good sign. They could almost feel the tide of public opinion turning. A tentative optimism infected their ranks, and Remus had been proud to be an ancillary participant in what was shaping up to be an historic civil rights movement. It almost felt like being in the Order again, with that same sense of fighting the good fight, of serving the righteous good.

Before they gained enough momentum to force any real change, however, everything came crashing down. Aurors descended in the dead of night to drag Charles away. He was charged with attacking a young Muggle girl during the Full, resulting in her death. It was obviously a framing. The case against the werewolf was flimsy at best. But they’d had no money to retain the services of a barrister and no time to arrange it. While they still struggled to shake off their confusion and panic long enough to build some sort of defence, legal processes were expedited. Normal procedures were waived. The entire awesome mechanism of the state had moved in synchrony to disadvantage them at every turn.

To their horror, ‘justice’ was swiftly served, and Charles was executed almost immediately and with much fanfare. And there had been nothing any of them could have done to prevent it

The message was clear. The powers that be would tolerate no challenge to the status quo.

They had discussed protesting, but they were too heartsore. It was not how Charles would have wanted it. Violence would have been unavoidable and devastating to their cause. Bitter as it was, the Ministry had won that battle. The rest of the lycanthropes dutifully and silently fell back into line, returning to Dogtown with nothing to show for their grand experiment besides a renewed resentment and Charles Blackfur’s ashes.

As they licked their wounds after, trouble brewed outside their walls. Many in the Wizarding community felt it wasn’t enough that the Ministry had seemingly cut the head from the snake. They had been reminded of what atrocities Blackfur and his ilk were capable of, had been reconvinced they had reason for their prejudice.

A frightening number thought to take justice into their own hands, nevermind that the crimes they sought to avenge had not yet and would never have been committed, except in their own imaginations. They decided that driving Remus’ kind to the fringes, forcing them to live in a kind of quarantine in slums in the peripheral, was not enough. They came, a literal mob with literal torches, to burn those slums to the ground. It was Blackfur's execution a hundred fold. Overnight, Remus’ whole world, and almost everyone in it he cared for, had been lost.

Again.

So that morning, Remus wrestled with much more than the sting on his skin and the fog in his brain. He was no stranger to the wounds he bore. But now there would be no commissary with his fellows in the aftermath. There would be no comfort food prepared in advance and served with an encouraging smile by the resident Den Mother after she patched them all up with herbs and spit and homemade bandages. For the first time in too long, Remus remembered to grieve for the family he’d lost to the Riots of Dogtown. For the first time in a long while, he properly missed their presence.

After a good cry, Remus finally pulled himself from the floor and shuffled over to retrieve his wand from the wardrobe where he’d stored it until ‘after’ and went about his old routine of repairing his furnishings before turning his magic on himself. He was relieved that there was not much blood this time. There were no wounds that required more than a skin-seal and a scour. If there had been, there was no one convenient to stitch him up. With term started and Albus at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place had been quiet. The Order had had no business to conduct since he’d exiled himself from the Castle, and Remus had been alone.

He’d assumed he was that morning, as well, and he was so preoccupied with his self-imposed misery that he did not immediately recognise that something stirred in the house beneath him. Remus listened at the door, puzzled, as he struggled stiffly into his clothes. Perhaps some well-meaning soul had come to see how he’d fared?

Once dressed, Remus reached to undo the lock over the door that could only be worked by human hands, designed to keep him safely inside during the Full, and crept down the steps to see who was there.

“Poppy?” he said, confused on seeing the healer in the sitting room. She was aware of the Order, as she was sometimes called to provide discreet care to its members, but she was not a proper member herself. Perhaps Albus had sent her, knowing Remus was facing the Full unmedicated for the first time in a long while.

“Remus,” she greeted him breathlessly as she rose from the sofa, giving him an anxious once over but not approaching to do a proper examination. “Do you need any assistance?” When he shook his head, she stowed her wand and nodded, seeming relieved.

“Excellent. You should come quickly.”

“What’s happened?” Remus asked, becoming increasingly apprehensive. This was nothing to do with him and the full moon. Poppy simply shook her head, clearly distressed, and reached out to pat his arm comfortingly.

“I’ll leave that to Albus,” she said quietly. “We’re ready now, Hokey.”

A house elf Remus had not previously noticed stepped from behind the nurse’s voluminous skirt. He wore a pillowcase embroidered with the Hogwarts crest. He was Apparating them there, Remus understood suddenly, because whatever matter brought Pomfrey to fetch him was too urgent for traditional transportation.

“Poppy? What’s happened?” he repeated anxiously as the house elf took his hand and then hers. The regret in her eyes met the fear in his, but she did not respond before Hokey yanked them, with a pop, out of London and into Albus’ study.

 


	41. His Fits, His Frenzy, and His Bitterness

**Before: Severus**

The vampire knew their prison to be sound, but that didn’t stop him from testing it. The pop of Lucius Disapparating echoed down the corridor almost immediately after they’d been locked in, and Severus flew to the door when he heard it. The wood was ancient but solid and sturdy. Even if he hadn’t been so weak, he’d never have budged it. There was a generous gap at the corner, but it was simply a portal for rats. There was no other exit. They were deep underground. He frantically searched for one, anyway, testing every seam he could reach. The mortar had partially flaked away from around several stones, but the walls were more than one stone thick. He’d wear his fingers to nothing by picking at it long before he managed to loosen a single one. The only real weakness in their cell was from above where rainwater had found a way through from the upper floors and widened it slowly through the years. Hastening the process would only result in a cave in. Still, being crushed to death by a fallen ceiling might be preferable to what they faced.

Having assured himself there was no escape, all urgency left him. If they could have gotten out, they would have needed to cover as much ground as possible before their captor noticed their flight. The minutes no longer mattered, though. They were trapped there until Lucius returned, whenever that might be. Severus turned his anxious attention to Harry.

He was no healer, but he had stocked the infirmary stores for years. Potions required a certain understanding of their practical application, and Severus liked to think he had a basic grasp of things. The young man’s soft glow was encouraging. Severus didn’t have to take his wrist to tell that Harry’s pulse was steady, not strong but not weak or faltering. He was simply exhausted. The ordeal had left him pale, but not pale enough to indicate significant blood loss. Severus doubted Harry was bleeding internally. Though, a cursory check of the most likely bones revealed damaged ribs. Harry’s breathing seemed unhindered, however. Severus heard no wetness in it. Fondling them gingerly, Severus determined they were not broken. Bruised, certainly. A vicious stain, several inches in diameter and warm to the touch, blossomed across the young man’s side. Possibly his ribs were cracked, but nothing worrisome seemed to be wrong with him.

Harry was alive. Somehow, Harry was whole. Severus collapsed to a seat on the stone floor beside him in relief. He’d feared so much worse.  

There was nothing to do then but wait: for the young man to wake or for Lucius to return. Severus disliked their lack of options, but perhaps it was a blessing of sorts. Their danger was not immediate. He could allow himself to breathe for a moment. And he needed to. He was shaken.

Severus had been in perilous situations before. Each moment spent in the Dark Lord’s presence held the potential to be his last. Facing death was nothing to him, and he hadn’t thought anything else could possibly be as nerve wracking. But that was before the Potions Master had allowed himself to care for another person more than himself.

Being forced to watch Lucius torture Harry had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever endured. If the young man had been awake, Severus wasn’t sure he could have weathered the episode with his sanity intact. Watching him shuddering on the floor in induced spasms had been hard enough. If it had been accompanied by Harry’s anguished screams, Severus suspected he’d have come unravelled completely. He trembled to think what he might have done, might have agreed to, for the promise that it might stop.

Severus looked down at the boy and marvelled that he could feel so strongly for a person whose presence, until fairly recently, had literally made his skin crawl. The revelation that the reaction had little to do with the young man himself had been both enlightening and shackling. Severus reached over with a still trembling hand to lower Harry’s jumper back over his torso from where it had become bunched under his arm as Severus had studied his ribs. He did so slowly, as if not to wake him, but really Severus was simply absorbing details before they were hidden away. He’d not taken the opportunity to appreciate them while he was examining the young man for injury. It occurred to him he could now. Nothing stopped him from pushing the fabric back instead of pulling it down. Harry wouldn’t be waking soon. Severus could drink in as much of him as he wanted without consequence.

...Severus could _do_ whatever he wanted...

The man shuddered and his stomach instantly soured. He pulled the garment quickly but gently into place. It had been an ugly, despicable thought. But though it left him feeling unclean, his mouth still watered, which only made him feel even more wretched.

After taking a moment to tamp back his shame, Severus contented himself with studying Harry’s fully-clothed form. It still felt wrong somehow, but it was hard to resist. The cell was small and held no details besides the pattern of the uninterrupted stones that comprised it. There was only one other thing in the room beside Severus, and that something pulsed in radiant technicolour, made all the more vivid by their flat, lifeless, grey surroundings.    

Even battered and unwell, the young man really was gorgeous. For the life of him, Severus couldn’t be sure if the boy really was that attractive or if Severus’ affection for him made him so. He shyly dared to brush the hair back from Harry’s face with his fingertips. He straightened the cracked glasses on his nose with a small smile. Could anyone really be considered so handsome in such funny frames? But it wasn’t important in the least how attractive Harry might be to others, he realised. After all, Severus still found Loraina beautiful. Though he knew it to be objectively untrue, it made her no less so in his eyes. They would both forever be paragons to Severus. Exceptional. He doubted he would ever feel similarly toward any other man. If none had ever interested him before, why should any in future? No. There would always only be Harry, and Severus almost preferred the rest of the world not see what he saw in the young man.   

It was a foolish thing to ponder, though, he thought sinkingly, because it didn’t matter. Regardless of what Severus felt for him or why, Harry would never return the sentiment. It had been a long while since such thoughts had wounded him. There was a multitude of reasons why the two of them could never be, but they weren’t what stung. Even if all other obstacles were somehow cleared, Harry would never choose _him_. Severus did not possess Lupin’s deceptively considerate expression or his weathered good looks. He did not have Harry’s schoolboy lover’s youth or golden hair and skin. Severus raised a hand self-consciously to his face, tracing a finger down his ‘abnormally large nose’. He had rarely so hated its shape. Severus traced Harry’s graceful bridge, as well, for comparison and grew even more despondent. He let his fingertip continue its consideration, lightly stroking the silky swell of Harry’s lips, and he tried to recall their flavour, but he tasted only bile. He knew he’d never sample them again.   

Severus retreated to the opposite wall to unabashedly sulk. He tucked his hands against his sides as if the young man had been caustic to the touch, knowing the phantom sensation of the supple warmth of Harry’s skin would forever be burned into his own. It was a hateful thing, this longing. There he was, locked alone in a dark room with the unlikely object of his desire. It was an attachment he’d never wanted, and now he resented it and this false opportunity. Of all the things Severus had endured, this was one of the most embittering. Fate mocked him. It had always, but now it abandoned all subtlety.

 _Curse the boy!_ This was all Harry’s fault, Severus thought sourly. He was so easily led, so bloody predictable. Really, how could Severus possibly be so smitten with someone so dense? It defied all logic. He had never been one to be taken in by looks alone. He suspected it must be the blood. Surely he wouldn’t find the young man’s presence so intoxicating if his blood wasn’t so perfect, if he wasn’t still a virgin...

Severus gasped as that fact slowly defeated his heartfelt denial of it. He’d been so distracted by his insecurities, he’d failed to appreciate what it truly meant to be locked alone with the young man for an indeterminate length of time. It was almost as if Severus had forgotten, until just that moment, what he was and how Harry’s blood called to him. Suddenly, its song was almost deafening, and Severus pressed himself more firmly against the wall behind him, away from the shining temptation spread out on the floor in front of him. He’d taken his Substisanguinus, but its effects were short lived. It was only a matter of time before his thirst became unshackled to do battle with his willpower.   

His earlier sense of relief evaporated. They were doomed. There simply was not enough time for matters to work out in their favour. If Lucius retrieved them before Severus’ appetite became unbearable, they would die at the Dark Lord’s hands. If he didn’t, Harry would die at Severus’. No one knew where they might be or who captured them. How long before those at Hogwarts even noticed their absence? How long before they thought to look outside the grounds? Not soon enough. Perhaps Lucius had risked capture and taken Draco to St. Mungo’s. But that wasn’t encouraging, either. Whether Draco survived or not, Lucius would die before he confessed their exact location. Even if they knew to start searching the dungeons immediately, it would take them days to find the cell that held them. With the water pooling in the corner, that mightn’t be such a dismal thought, if not for the thirst Severus harboured which the pool could not quench.

Severus gave a wry laugh that was dangerously close to a sob of despair. It was too much. To think he’d been downcast at the thought that he was being taunted with Harry’s vulnerability, that his covetousness would go unsatisfied. But this was so much worse than sexual frustration and hurt feelings over his lack of appeal to the handsome youth. _This_ was true torture, knowing the one person whom Severus had come to care for above all others would die by his hand like a sacrifice to some dark and twisted god. Eventually. Only after Severus had had ample opportunity to contemplate the horror of it. It was as if Karma was calling in his debts, and all of Severus’ sins had caught up with him at once.

He wouldn’t do it. Severus determined he’d die before he harmed Harry in any way. If it came to it, he’d use his fangs to open his own veins and empty himself. Now, it simply became a matter of waiting. His very last staring contest with Death had commenced, and Severus settled in for the ordeal with acceptance but not with grace. His decision was not motivated by nobility. Frankly, he was disgusted by this outcome; bitter and sickened, but lazily so. In a few days time, whether it was by Voldemort’s hand or his own, Severus would no longer exist on this earth; and all he’d strived to accomplish in this life will have come to nothing at all.

 


	42. A Solemn Hunting is in Hand

**Before: Remus**

 

_Draco and Lucius set trap in Forest. Snape and Cobbleshot in danger. Can’t find anyone. Gone after._

_Hurry. _

_~Harry_

Remus wasn’t aware of dropping the note and didn’t immediately understand why he was being helped to a chair. _Trap_. _Danger. Gone._ Though he no longer held the parchment, he still saw the words. They seemed to be tattooed on his retinas.

When they had arrived, the first thing Remus spied was his own cardigan laid out on Albus’ desk. It was shredded and barely recognisable. He hadn’t understood what it meant, but the dread it inspired crescendoed when, with only a solemn expression, the Headmaster handed him Harry’s letter.  

“...which is why we must go immediately to Malfoy Manor and...Remus? I understand it is a shock, but I need you to be present now,” Dumbledore told him, kind but firm. “For Harry’s sake.”

_For Harry’s sake._

He was alive, as far as they knew. Hagrid was lost to them, but they had only found Harry’s sweater...Remus’ sweater which Harry had been wearing. That mental image broke the werewolf. He was surprised the young man hadn’t burned the thing after Remus’ betrayal. But he hadn’t. He’d kept it and had worn it, and now it was the only piece of him they had.

“I’m sorry, Albus,” Remus stammered faintly as the room around him rematerialized. Was that his heart? It was so hard to hear over its pounding. “I’m listening. Go on.”

Albus cast a worried glance to Poppy but quickly moved on.

“Lucius is being interrogated by Kingsley as we speak, but I’m told not to expect much from that quarter,” Albus muttered ruefully. “Narcissa is at St. Mungo’s at Draco’s bedside and cannot assist. She is not uncooperative, exactly, but she is not especially sympathetic, either, as Lucius tells us that their son’s condition is Harry’s doing. She has given me the keys to the Manor with permission to search but little else.”  

“Then what are we waiting for?” Remus asked, rising too quickly. His head was still swimming. But he had to move. The need to find his ward was overwhelming. The last words they spoke to one another could _not_ be the last words they ever spoke. Remus could not even conceive of it. He would bring Harry home if it was the last thing he ever did.

Remus turned toward the door but Albus caught him by the arm. Remus started to object, but suddenly they were Apparating, and Remus found himself standing on the manicured gravel path before the main gates of Malfoy Manor. All around them, other Order members were materialising, anxiety and determination showing in their expressions in equal measure.  

“The locator spell I devised succeeded in leading us to the clearing where we found your cardigan, but Lucius had gone before we arrived, and the wards on the estate prevent the spell’s usage on the grounds, unfortunately,” Albus said.

Remus was unfamiliar with the spell to which Albus was referring.

“So how do we know he’s even here?”

“The spell also led us to a secret entrance at the property’s boundary, where you and I are going now. He was here recently, else the spell would not have picked up his passage. Where Lucius took them from there, we do not know. The grounds are ancient and extensive. There’s no knowing what secrets they hold. Severus would have been able to provide much insight into the matter, but he is not available for consultation. Though, let us hope he is at Harry’s side. The young man could hardly hope for a more formidable champion. In his absence, well, we have to start somewhere and brace ourselves for whatever we may find on the way. The secret entrance is the only lead we have at the moment.”

It seemed to Remus that Severus was the one who led the young man into danger in the first place, however inadvertently. But Remus was too worried for Harry’s safety to bristle at Albus’ talk of vampiric bodyguards. He nodded his understanding. He was ready. He was willing to tear the estate apart stone by stone if he had to, though he had a feeling a more efficient method would be imperative.

“Nymphadora,” Albus called. The Auror was close at hand and was at his side immediately. “I’m going to let you and the others through the gates. Arrange search parties. Communicate any discoveries by flare. Remus and I will concentrate on the West side of the estate. Make plans to cover the rest. I’d like you and a couple of the others to search the Manor House. All of you, be on your guard. The property will undoubtedly be hostile to interlopers.”

Tonks nodded, looking as eager and as terrified as Remus, and did as she was bid, immediately ordering the others into action. As soon as they were through the wrought iron barrier, Albus reached again for Remus’ arm and Apparated them to a hole in the deep perimeter hedge. The gates they’d just left were nowhere in sight.

“The spell led us here,” Dumbledore said, considering the yawning darkness before them. The early morning light was obscured by murky clouds, and the meagre illumination extended only a few inches into the opening. “I’ve already disarmed the perimeter wards here. Regrettably, the spells permeating the grounds are less easily placated,” the Headmaster explained, not waiting for Remus to answer before plunging into the passage. The werewolf followed close at his heels, his pains from the night before all but forgotten.

It was not a straight tunnel through the shrub, which was only about ten feet wide but dense enough to be impenetrable. The passage turned and wound its way under branches and around trunks along the length of the hedge. The air was close. As was the Full; Remus’ faculties were still sharper than usual. He didn’t believe he was just being wishful in thinking he smelled Harry here. Remus opened his senses, taking in the heavy scents around him. Woven around and between the pungency of bark and the musk of dark, waxy leaves was a multitude of human smells: Blood and panicked sweat, the funk of unwashed hair and the acrid bite of spilled Mut. The spicy spike of a potions cupboard and the musty notes of robes marinated in dungeon air accompanied the cold notes of vampiric infection. And there, below it all, were remnants of a cologne reminiscent of suede and Harry’s even more alluring personal perfume. Dumbledore pulled away slightly as Remus followed it to a piece of torn fabric clinging to a low, grasping branch. With both hope and sorrow, Remus plucked it off and brought it to his nose. It was undoubtedly Harry’s. Remus jogged forward to show it to the Headmaster, who simply nodded solemnly and fought on through the foliage.

“Albus. What spell did you use to find this passage? How does it work?”

“One of my own devising,” Albus answered distractedly, “and one that, perhaps, was not quite ready for employment. It is woefully limited. It balks at the flimsiest of wards. With more time, perhaps I could have developed something stronger, but I never imagined I’d be needing it so soon.”

“But how did it lead you here?” Remus asked, sniffing the fabric he held, an idea forming in his mind. Albus answered, though a bit impatiently.

“It creates a visible trail, like luminous smoke, leading the caster to the sought after person. I’d written a similar spell for objects, but found it consistently unsuccessful. It may seem counterintuitive, but it is actually easier to locate a person than it is an inanimate thing. A Wizard’s living magical signature is far stronger than the residual essence of an object. Still, it might have taken far longer to locate Harry’s possible whereabouts if not for the note he’d left. After finding nothing in the forest, I came to the gates of Malfoy Manor and cast again, quickly finding this passage. Ah. Here we are,” Albus concluded, emerging from the labyrinth and into the open air of the estate’s grounds.

Remus was slightly disheartened to realise Harry’s scent was much harder to discern with the stirring of the breeze. It wouldn’t matter for long, however.

“So the spell sniffed them out?” Remus summarised, attempting to get his bearings.  The Manor house lay discouragingly far to their right. He had no idea how large the estate actually was, but he guessed it to be dauntingly so. To a man used to such limited property, it really seemed gratuitous.

“Essentially,” Albus answered, surveying the grounds. “But it is of no use here, as I’ve said. We must work out some other way to search. Though, there seems little here to indicate a possible destination.” There were no paths and no nearby structures, only the Manor house on the right and, equally far away on the left, what Remus supposed was a cemetery. He thought he could discern winged statues guarding boxy structures. Directly before them were acres of woods, and there was no telling what was hidden in their depths. Remus was not nearly so disappointed as his companion, however.

“What if we didn’t need the spell?” he said, his resolve cementing itself. There was too much ground to cover and too few of them to search it systematically. “What if we could sniff them out another way?” he asked, worrying the fabric in his fingers and bringing it to his nose.

Albus’ eyes abruptly ceased scanning their surroundings and cut sharply to Remus. He regarded him for a long moment before answering, his voice harder than usual.

“You think that wise?” It had the same disapproving tone Remus had heard when he’d confessed to the man several days before in his office, and it shook Remus’ confidence. He dearly hoped the damage to their relationship wasn’t permanent.

“I’ve done it before,” Remus argued gently, though the doubt the Headmaster had inspired was evident in his voice.

“The moon has barely set, its influence is still strong,” Albus contended brusquely.

“I wouldn’t go all the way,” Remus promised, prepared to beg if necessary. “Besides, what choice do we have, Albus?” he added in a frantic whisper.

He understood the Headmaster’s concern. The moon was a mistress who dealt only in extremes, and partial transformations were difficult to maintain. If he took it too far, he’d be unable to hold it in check. But he’d be doing it with the Headmaster’s blessing or no. His only anxiety was that Albus knew spells to revert him. Nothing could overpower the influence of direct moonlight, but now that she’d set, a Wizard with sufficient power and knowledge could pluck the man from the beast like a mother taking a tot by the ear.

The Headmaster considered the question for so long, Remus was tempted to take his chances and bolt, transforming as he went. It would make the process more difficult to control. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but…

“You’re certain you can contain it?” Albus asked, softening. Perhaps he’d taken in the sheer magnitude of the grounds and calculated their odds. Perhaps he’d taken in the determination in Remus’ expression and accepted he’d not sway him. Mostly likely, it was a bit of both.      

“Of course, I am,” Remus answered immediately, relieved. “And you’re my safeguard besides.”

“I doubt I can keep up,” Albus fretted. “Alright. But if you find something, you _must_ stop and wait for me, is that understood?” he added, clearly disliking their plan.

Remus nodded, already reaching for the beast. He hadn’t done such a thing since he’d challenged Blodman Ironpelt for Alpha. That seemed like a lifetime ago, though he’d practised the skill a handful of times before then. As always, it felt simultaneously unnatural and innate. Though excruciating, the pain was familiar. It seemed to cajole him to loosen his grip, to let it have its head and carry them at a gallop toward total transformation. But Remus’ will was strong enough to ignore its wiles.

He felt his fingers lengthen and curl. His claws itched to break the skin, but he refused to let them. He felt his neck thicken and his jaw lengthen, but he stopped his maw’s advance before he changed so far as to cost him the power of speech.

It was enough. It was all he needed.

His vision was suddenly sharp. But more importantly, the world exploded with scents, and he now had the biological equipment necessary to untangle them. His head turned sharply to the left before his mind had the opportunity to tell it to. Albus was all but forgotten. With the cloth bearing Harry’s fragrance still grasped in his now monstrous hand, Remus gave himself over to the instinct to hunt.  

Following the trail Lucius had left was almost effortless. It did not require conscious thought, and so Remus turned his mind to other things in order to tether him to his humanity.

He turned his mind to Harry.

If he found him alive, Remus would let nothing come between them ever again. His qualms remained persistent, but to hell with them. If Harry still wanted a relationship, Remus resolved to give it. He would allow nothing that would endanger the protections surrounding the young man until after Voldemort had been dispatched. But if Harry wanted companionship, it was his. If he wanted affection, physical or otherwise, Remus would oblige. He would have kisses and embraces. And love. Endless and unconditional. So what if the others did not understand? Albus’ respect, though cherished, paled in importance to Harry’s happiness, and his well-being would never be in jeopardy. Remus would do absolutely whatever was necessary to support the young man, even if it meant alienating all the rest of the world. It was a condition Remus was accustomed to, after all. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“Just let him be alive,” Remus whispered in tearful prayer as he pelted toward the cemetery. “I’ll give him everything I am. Just let him be okay.”

 


	43. There Serve Your Lusts, Shadow'd from Heaven's Eye

**Before: Severus**

“How long have we been here, Severus?”

The Potions Master winced at the sound of his name. It fell from the young man’s lips with too much ease, with too much melody. Their earlier conversation and the confessions it produced had been disarming, and Harry had been behaving increasingly informally toward him since. It was bittersweet. Severus would have preferred to remain simply bitter, but the little monster had had the nerve to be sensitive and insightful. Resenting Harry would have made this whole ordeal easier. Instead, they’d reached a deeper understanding and exchanged apologies long overdue. Their rapport deepened, and Severus was instilled with a deep sense of melancholy that it would have to end just as it was beginning.

None of this helped Severus’ battle with his instincts. The Thirst was doing strange things to his mind. They both refused to sleep, not wanting to waste the minutes that might turn out to be their last. He was exhausted and kept finding himself drifting off into waking fantasies in which Harry was familiar and inviting, flirtatious even; not at all put off by Severus’ attributes, physical or otherwise. In these daydreams, Severus would see himself opening his arms to the young man and gathering him tightly against his own need-ravaged body. He heard himself muttering sweet nothings against Harry’s skin as if to season it before sinking his fangs there. Severus would wake from these fantasies with a silent gasp, his eyes flying open to find their subject on the other side of the cell still, unmoved and unsullied. And Severus’ thirst would rage anew, urging him to close the distance and make their finale a reality. It was driving Severus to madness. He’d had to stand, finally, to banish them; to pace the meagre length of their cell to keep himself present. But Harry’s bold new intimacy kept confusing him and making him think the visions were chasing him around their tiny prison.

“How long?” Harry persisted, his voice devoid of propriety. “I can’t tell, but I suspect you know.”

“ _Don’t_ call me by my first name,” Severus replied testily. It was inconvenient that he craved the sound of his name in Harry’s voice as badly as he craved the young man’s blood.

“And can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t?” Harry asked impudently.

“Harry, are you trying to shorten your suffering by inducing me to kill you out of irritation?” Severus groused. “Because if so, you are doing _exceedingly_ well.”

The little shit actually grinned.

“Do you know?” he asked, his smile fading to a stubborn scowl. “How long?”

Of course, he was really asking a very different question. Not ‘How long have we been here?’ but ‘How long do I have left?’ Severus didn’t know how to go about explaining to him that his anxiety was unwarranted. Torturous as their predicament was, though, Severus was not yet ready to die. Besides, he felt he should hold off the deed as long as possible so as not to add unnecessarily to Harry’s inevitable trauma. The light coming through the gap beneath the door from the distant torchlight of the torture chamber seemed enough for Harry to track Severus’ movements in a vague way, but at least Harry would not be able to see what Severus would do. Still, he did not cherish the thought of leaving the young man alone here with only a corpse for company. And if they took too long in retrieving him...

“Three days, at least,” Severus finally murmured, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You were unconscious for quite a while.”

“So, I’m looking like a chicken leg with glasses right about now, I suppose,” Harry mumbled with a chuckle. Severus stopped pacing and stared at him in bewilderment. “You know, Looney Tunes?” he went on. “Two blokes get stuck on a deserted island, and then they get so hungry they begin imagining each other as roasted chickens or hams or something.” Harry giggled.

“Well, that certainly didn’t take long,” Severus muttered under his breath, pacing again.

“What didn’t?” Harry asked indifferently as he lay his head back against the wall.

“You. Going completely mad. I thought you’d last at least another day or so.”

“I’m not mad,” Harry assured him. “Just hungry and bored.”

“Will you please stop talking about food?” Severus grumbled.

“Fine,” Harry said brightly. “What would you rather talk about?”

“I wouldn’t.”

Harry watched Severus’ progress back and forth across the cell with a lazy, lopsided smile. “You’re annoyed,” he intuited.

“Your powers of perception never cease to amaze,” Severus answered snidely.

“It’s because I’m a virgin.”

“Do you have anything _else_ obvious to add?!” Severus snarled.

For the love of Hermes, why did he have to say it _out loud?_ The fact was hard enough to ignore as it was. The air was saturated to capacity with the heady perfume of Harry's blood. Each breath of it Severus drew into his lungs further eroded his self-control, pushing him closer and closer to his own end.

“Well, I see _one_ possible solution,” Harry said musingly. Severus suddenly stopped pacing and turned to the young man who waggled his eyebrows as if in clarification.

It wasn’t as if it hadn’t occurred to Severus. And not just as idle erotic fantasy, but as a serious consideration. Was the protection surrounding Harry worth more than his own life? What if he destroyed the boy’s armour and still had to tear himself open in the end? The scars Harry would bear from the act would be in vain, as would all Severus’ efforts to end the Dark Lord, should Harry fall due to Severus’ selfish indiscretion.

But then, what if the others didn’t come in time? What if they were both fated to die? Could Severus really be faulted for possessing the desire to live? Even if just one more day?

For fuck’s sake. What in hell was he thinking? Harry didn’t even properly understand what he was suggesting. Lupin had been right that the boy was naive of the implications. He would regret the experience and hate Severus forever after, even if forever turned out to be just a couple of more dark, lonely days. Severus could stand to die a few hours earlier. He could certainly accept that he would do so without getting laid one last time.

“No,” Severus said finally. “It would buy us a day, maybe. Two at most.”

“Those sound like better odds than I’ve got now,” Harry pointed out. “Seems to me, before the day is out, you’ll have to either fuck me or kill me,” he said casually as if they weren’t discussing intercourse and murder.

 _Gods!_ Both options were as tempting as they were repulsive. Severus’ appetites were eating him alive. He huffed and abruptly took a seat opposite of Harry, laying his head in his hands. Perhaps he should do the deed now and put himself out of his misery.

“Well, I know which I’d prefer,” Harry offered. Severus lifted a weary look to his tormentor.

“ _I'd_ prefer to do neither,” he grumbled insincerely. The lie was bitter on his tongue but better spoken than the truth. “Has it ever occurred to you I might not be particularly interested?” he asked waspishly, annoyed beyond tolerance by Harry’s reckless and oblivious banter. “Or are you so certain of your appeal you think it will override my natural inclinations?” The young man scowled but refrained from answering back. “Besides, the Headmaster will have my heart on a stake as it is,” Severus went on miserably. If he ever saw the man again, that is.

Harry cocked his head thoughtfully. “Will the protective magic prevent you from ripping my throat out when you can't resist the temptation any longer?”

 _Perhaps,_ Severus thought. _And it might well induce me to tear out my own within the hour._

“It hasn’t come to that yet,” Severus said now, though tensely. He had to get a hold on himself. Harry’s blasé attitude might well be deceptive. He couldn’t let the young man fall into despair so soon, especially knowing how susceptible Harry was to it, especially knowing he wouldn’t be around afterwards to pull the young man out of it again. “And it may never. They may still find us before…”

Before what? Who was he kidding? They were deep in the bowels of a massive, likely booby trapped, multi-tiered subterranean maze. No one was coming. He couldn’t even force the lie from his lips. “Besides, I’m not about to let you throw away your bloody virginity on your greasy old Potions Master!” he sputtered instead.

“Well, whether it’s bloody or not would be entirely up to you, Severus,” Harry purred, inducing a shiver that travelled the vampire’s entire body.

_Bloody Fucking Hell._

“ _Don’t. Call me. By my first name_.”

Severus was on the brink. But Harry couldn’t actually _want_ to be with him. He just didn’t fancy being eaten. If he knew it wasn’t a concern, he might stop plaguing Severus. But then he might also try to talk the man out of things, and Severus’ willpower might not weather the test, to both their ruin.

“I think it’s going to be a little awkward shouting out ‘professor’ in the throes of passion,” Harry sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“THERE WILL BE _NO_ RUDDY THROES, HARRY!”

Severus' shout echoed throughout the cell, sobering Harry considerably. He stared at Severus, and the hurt in his expression made Severus feel like the worst kind of villain. How he hated seeing pain in the young man, regardless of the circumstances.

“You’d really rather kill me?” he asked, his voice small and wounded. “Do you find me that repulsive?” Severus swallowed uncomfortably.

If Harry only knew. The Potions Master began to wring his hands to stop them ripping out his hair in frustration. Harry scowled at him across the darkness.

“And what if,” he ventured hesitantly, “what if my suggesting this doesn’t have all that much to do with saving my life?”

Severus stopped his wringing and stared at the young man, certain he’d misheard. Harry’s expression was open and vulnerable. Severus scowled at him suspiciously, but before he could work out the depth of his sincerity, Harry began groping his way through the dark toward him on his hands and knees.

“What are you doing?” Severus asked in panic. “ _Stay where you are._ ”

Harry ignored the command, and Severus was powerless to stop him. He didn’t trust himself to touch him, even to push him away. What was this? Did he have a deathwish? Or had hunger and darkness robbed him of all sense? Regardless, Severus had to struggle to remain immobile as Harry knelt before him and brought his hands to Severus’ face.

“What exactly are you doing?” Severus asked. It was meant to be withering but he could hardly breathe. Harry was so near, and his touch was intoxicating.

“I’m seeing you,” Harry replied plainly, tracing his fingertips over Severus’ countenance.

The man’s astonishment momentarily subdued his bloodlust. How could a boy so dangerously predictable surprise Severus so consistently? Despite his thirst, Severus was fascinated, as lost in the exercise as Harry was. This close, Harry’s luminance was almost blinding, and the look on the young man’s face was exquisite; in turns curious and considerate and delighted.

 _Delighted_. Over the tactile observation of Severus’ features. It defied all logic, and yet there was the young man’s small smile as he traced the arch of Severus’ eyebrow. Harry stroked his index finger down the contour of Severus’ nose, just as the man himself had done only hours before, and he actually sighed contentedly. What manner of creature was this who found satisfaction in something Severus had been taught was universally considered loathsome?

Harry was thorough, and despite his amazement, Severus found the act soothing. But when Harry caressed his way to Severus' mouth, running his finger across the man’s thin lips and fondling the swell of his fangs beneath, Severus’ thirst stirred, and the urge to snap at the questing digit was too great. Severus quickly snatched Harry’s fingers in his own and drew them a short ways from his skin, holding him still. Though, he did not expel Harry bodily from him. His proximity was too agreeable, and for the moment, Severus was pacified enough to not be a danger.

“You know, you don’t have a bad face,” Harry said softly. They were both short of breath. Severus gave him a fondly incredulous look which the young man could not see.

“I suppose it’s complemented by the lighting here,” Severus replied in a wry whisper.

“Oh, come on,” Harry gently argued, reclaiming his hand and placing it on the wall beside Severus' head to help with his precarious balance. He wasn’t exactly in Severus' lap, but he was dangerously close to it. The Potions Master couldn’t decide which part of that bothered him. “You’re...handsome. In your own way.”

Severus laughed softly. “Harry, I am not now, nor have I ever been, considered handsome; even by the most desperate and depraved of undesirables.”

Harry’s expression soured, and to Severus’ dismay, he sat back on his feet. “You’re right,” he said.

Severus was more hurt by the comment than he might have expected. The spell now broken, Severus’ discontent welcomed him back to planet Earth.

“Well,” he answered, bemused, “don’t bother with polite hesitation.”

“You aren’t handsome,” Harry repeated. “But you are attractive...in an intense, exclusively ‘Snape’ sort of way,” he said thoughtfully.

Severus was again caught off guard. Loraina had often told him something similar, but he’d always dismissed it. He shook his head wonderingly at the boy, half convinced that this was not actually happening, that he had lapsed back into deceptive daydreams. He should be moving, he thought. He needed to clear his head. But even after rising carefully to his feet and moving away from the young man, he still buzzed from the compliment.

“You, Harry, are simply oversexed,” he argued. Surely the young man was merely suffering from some combination of hormones and hunger. “It has caused you to see attraction where it does not exist.”

He felt Harry rise behind him. In fact, he was intensely aware that Harry drifted closer, and the distance between them chaffed the more it shrank.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Harry said, his voice dusky.

This was not the playful purr of before. This was not hollow flirtation. Harry’s voice was coloured by honest arousal, and Severus’ flowered in response. He had to get away from the boy, but in their confines, escape equated to approximately three agitated steps. Severus would have to diffuse the situation somehow.

“I've seen your idea of seduction already,” he said disdainfully, turning back to face Harry. “It's juvenile.”

“But effective?” When he got no response, Harry sighed in defeat and leaned dejectedly against the wall. “You really can't consider that seduction, you know,” Harry dismissed, crossing his arms. Gratefully, the smoke had left his voice. “I only kissed you because...well, because I was angry with you, strange as that sounds.”

Oh, for the love of hell. Just when they’d seemed to have skirted danger, he simply _had_ to remind Severus of that _blasted_ kiss. Such a lovely moment, ruined for nothing, and now they were back where they started.

“Not as strange as you'd think,” Severus muttered, starting to pace again. “But that was not what I was referring to,” he added without thinking, distracted by the remembrance of warring lips and the taste of perfect blood.

“Well, I didn't _have_ to seduce Eric,” Harry said with a reminiscent smile that inspired sudden violence in Severus.

 _Eric_.

Severus sneered in disgust. Harry must have been referring to that delinquent from the alcove. Severus seethed at the mention of his name, especially with the memory of Harry’s kiss so fresh on his mind. It wasn’t hard to place the boy, suddenly. Eric Conners, seventh year Hufflepuff. The Potions Master always had pegged him as a poof. He was in Severus’ N.E.W.T. class. Well, he was at the moment. If Severus managed to make it out of this tomb alive, the boy might not be for much longer.

“It was the other way around, really,” Harry went on thoughtfully as Severus continued his measure of the cell, thinking criminal thoughts about the golden-haired aspiring Healer.

“Wait,” Harry said slowly as something occurred to him. “Wait...you don't _mean_ Eric.”

“Stop saying his _bloody_ name,” Severus spat.

Harry scowled. “You mean...”

 _Gods damn it!_ Severus hadn’t intended to confess that transgression. Why was Harry only dense when it was inconvenient?

“The Mutt?” Severus snapped before Harry could voice the conclusion himself. “Yes, Harry. I meant _Lupin_.”

“Wait. You've _seen_ it?” Harry straightened and dropped his arms. “Does that mean that you...?”

“Used Legilimency?” Severus sighed witheringly. “No, Harry. I do not have enough interest in yours or Lupin's sexual practices to waste my talent and energy in thieving a peek at them,” he said, but Harry was not placated.

“So how? Tell me,” he demanded. Severus recommenced wringing his hands as he paced. Harry had a right to the truth. That didn’t mean Severus enjoyed admitting to it.

“I had deposited a memory in the Pensieve for the Headmaster to review,” Severus explained uncomfortably. “But when I went to retrieve it I...I accidentally claimed the wrong one.”

Harry stared at Severus as if trying and failing to stave off the implications of what he’d been told.

“What? _Dumbledore's_ seen it?” he sputtered. “ _Why?_ ”

“I would imagine to exonerate Lupin of any wrongdoing.”

“Wrongdoing?” Harry objected indignantly. “But, it's not like I'm technically underage. I mean legally-”

“Oh, you are so _naïve_ , Harry,” Severus huffed. “Besides, I’ve explained to you the importance of your purity. Albus has guarded it closely, and if he’d suspected Lupin of imperilling it, he would have skinned the wolf alive.”

That shut Harry up. But not for good. After a long, extremely uncomfortable silence, during which Severus continued to pace and turn, Harry couldn’t help himself any longer.

“So what does that mean? You took his memory. You saw it?”

“I didn't _see_ it, Harry,” Severus told him. “I lived it.” Harry looked lost, and Severus blasted out a sigh.

“When one uses the Pensieve it is like watching the memory as an outsider. You know this.”

“But when you put someone else's memory in your own head...” Harry prompted impatiently.

“Yes, Harry!” Severus hissed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You experience it as if the memory were your own! As if everything that was done or said was through you; your own body, your own thoughts, your own sensations. You _get_ it now. Can we please stop discussing it!”

But it was too late. Suddenly, every detail of the stolen memory erupted in his mind’s eye. _Merlin’s Beard!_ As if Severus didn’t have enough to contend with with his thirst and his jealousy and his dread of death, now he had to battle an all too sharp arousal.

“So when you take it back out, do you stop?” Harry asked as if trying to wrap his head around the matter. “Do you stop feeling those things?”

Severus huffed irritably. “In a way, Harry. I'd really rather not-”

“What do you mean, in a way?”

“I mean that it abates!” Severus snapped. “It's disorienting. The memory becomes one of your own, but without the context.” He was exhausted by Harry's questioning and sighed, slumping against the wall.

Why couldn’t he just let the matter _rest?_ Severus was dangerously overwhelmed. So many things warred within him. Severus wanted simultaneously to kiss the scowling young man and to backhand him. He wanted to apologise and to condemn. He wanted to both ravage and protect him. He wanted to thank him for his foolish but seemingly sincere interest and also to punish him for his infidelity. He wanted to sully him and drain him and hold him fast against danger, and all of it--the satisfaction of all his conflicting desires--stood glaring at him an arm’s length away. His whole body ached to reach out and claim it; and nowhere so sharply as in his pants, especially now recalling the revelation of Harry’s bare skin beneath Lupin’s hand and remembering the feel of Harry’s lips smeared forcefully against Severus’ own with the man’s favourite brand of aggression.

“So, earlier in the dungeon, you weren't strictly angry with me,” Harry said, working it out aloud. “You were-”

“Oh, I was most definitely angry,” Severus spat, cutting him off. He knew where Harry was going, and he willed him to stop. If he didn’t, Severus wouldn’t be able to, either.

“But not _just_ ,” Harry prodded, unable to keep the smile from his face. Then he gasped with some sudden revelation. “And when you pulled me from the alcove!”

That was the final straw. The memory of Eric Conners’ tacky yellow mane swaying back and forth before Harry’s open trouser front came unbidden, and with the same possessive rage Severus had felt then, he sprang at the young man. Suddenly Harry was in Severus’ grasp and the man simply could not persuade his body to release him. That unruly black hair made for such a convenient grip, allowing him to wrench the boy’s head back so Severus could draw Harry's neck to his face where he could drink in his scent as Severus’ other arm pressed him like a vise against the Potions Master's long, thin, rigid body. Harry was forced to cling to him, as his feet no longer quite reached the floor, and the sensation was addictive. Harry gasped but did not struggle. Which was a pity, because if he had, it might have woken Severus to the horror of what he was doing.

“What do you want me to say, Harry?” Severus asked helplessly as his whole body trembled with the effort of denying the teeth positioned over Harry's throat permission to sink into it. “That my response wasn't just frustration at your weakening of the protections? That I was jealous?

 _"Of course, I was jealous_ ,” he told him in a fierce, low rush. _Gods,_ it felt glorious to confess it finally. “I had had in my head, just moments before finding you, the memory of a randy Werewolf who thinks the sun and moon rise and set out of your arse. I had _just_ known, not only the desire for it, but the actual feel of your skin beneath my hand, of your tongue in my mouth. And then suddenly there you were with someone else,” he said, the glow of his catharsis darkening. “With some _boy_ ,” he spat angrily against Harry's neck. “The little bastard was lucky I was so pissed at you or else he would not have escaped unscathed.

" _This_ ,” Severus hissed, tightening his grip in Harry's hair and roughly tugging his body even tighter to his own. “This is _mine_ ,” Severus growled, “and _how dare some pubescent aspiring Casanova dare to lay hands on it._ ”

But Harry was not that boy, and Severus could not allow his rage at Conners’ trespass to be directed at the young man trapped in his arms. He found could not let him go yet, though. Their entire ordeal and Severus’ long battle with his thirst, along with every thought and yen and revelation Severus had experienced in the last few weeks, had finally come to a head, and Severus’ willpower was all but spent. He didn’t mean to hurt Harry, though, and he realised he must be. Calming himself by degrees, Severus loosened his grip, cradling Harry though giving him no room for escape. His lips, however, were unable to leave Harry's throat.

“People misunderstand a vampire's craving for virgin blood, Harry,” Severus explained in a whisper against his skin, causing Harry to loose a series of trembling gasps that made Severus’ mouth water and his head swim with lust. “It's less a hunger and more of an arousal. It's almost...sexual,” he breathed, kissing Harry's neck caressingly.

He wasn’t able to help himself. And what did it matter now? Harry shuddered in Severus' arms, holding him more tightly.

“Even without that goddamned memory, I can fucking _smell_ you, Harry,” he moaned. “And you're perfect. Your blood, it's the right age: new but experienced, pure but not too pure, darkness and light in perfect proportion, just enough to give it complexity,” he intoned, running the flat of his tongue over the fluttering pulse in Harry's neck.

The young man whimpered. It could easily have been mistaken for fear if it hadn't been for the unambiguous twitching of Harry's erection which Severus held pinned between them. Severus’ answered, pressed firmly against Harry's thigh, and the man no longer cared.

What did it matter if he was a lecherous old monster? Harry was obviously willing. Besides, Severus was damned so many times over, he’d long since lost count. And so what if Harry had a cock instead of tits? Severus’ clearly didn’t mind. Being blessedly godless, it wasn’t as if he had any theological objections to the union of two men. Severus didn’t have qualms, only old scars, and his unadulterated need was making those fade to near invisibility.

“So, do I want to _fuck_ you, Harry?” he asked softly, finally moving away from Harry's veins and trailing soft, lazy kisses down Harry's jawline. “Of course, I do. Do I want to tear out your throat and drain you? More than anything,” he moaned. “But after all the trouble I've been put through to keep you alive, practically against your will...I suppose we can easily divine which I'll actually do.” His ghostly kisses had reached the corner of Harry's mouth, where he paused.

They were _going_ to die. There was no sense in deceiving themselves. Severus let that knowledge settle over him like a shroud. Absolutely nothing mattered at this point. What became of the world was immaterial. There was nothing more they two could do to save it. They were absolved. At least, he reasoned, they could save each other. What better way to die than in the arms of a lover?

“Mind the teeth,” Severus warned quietly, his eyes falling closed with acceptance, and then he smothered Harry's mouth with his own. Severus' iron grip relaxed and, with no hesitation, Harry twisted in the man’s arms, snaking his around Severus' neck and kissing him as if his life depended on it.

It was nothing short of miraculous. The chill air around them ignited. Severus was on fire. As yielding as the young man had been in his fantasies, Severus had never imagined he might be so enthusiastic. Compared to their last, the kiss was less angry and more voracious. Severus’ hands were no less hungry. After so many hours of being denied the feast, they seemed to try to consume it all at once. But there was too much of Harry, and no matter how he squeezed and pawed at him, Severus couldn’t get enough. He felt the fabric of the young man’s shirt strain and finally rip, feeling certain be must be bruising the boy but unable to control himself. He peeled Harry’s shirt from him completely. It was hindering his exploration anyway.

Severus swept one palm firmly up Harry’s spine to clutch at the nape of the boy’s neck, while the other sought the small of his back. Though their kiss was never sundered, Harry wasn’t idle either. He pawed at Severus’ robes, pushing them aside to attack the endless buttons down the man’s front. After fumbling with them for an interminable moment, Harry whimpered his frustration into Severus' mouth; and the man reluctantly relinquished Harry’s bare flesh to take over the task himself, going about it with practised efficiency that was hindered somewhat by Harry’s attempt to strip Severus before he was finished.

As the last of the buttons came free, Harry heaved the heavy layers of fabric from Severus' shoulders. And then they met, flesh to flesh, sweating despite the chill of the air, and it was delicious. Harry wasted no time in moving on to Severus' trousers.

“Harry,” he mumbled against the young man’s lips, as Harry refused to surrender Severus'. Harry ignored him. He seemed intent on stripping the man as quickly as possible. But this was not something to be rushed. No matter how starved and aching he was, Severus intended to go about this the right way. He refused to become Harry’s bitterest regret. Severus brought his hands to Harry’s shoulders and forcibly separated them.

“ _What?_ ” Harry demanded impatiently. His hands rose blindly to Severus' chest before the man could respond, locating a nipple so the young man could bend and attach himself to it. Severus' hand tangled itself tightly in Harry’s hair and he moaned. _Gods_ , it was fantastic. The young man was clearly not well practised, but he was fervent enough to compensate, and Severus had always preferred this activity to be a bit unpolished besides.

“I believe there is a process to this,” Severus panted, “but I’ve never personally-” Severus’ vision erupted in stars and his knees threatened to fail him. “Oh, my. _Do that again_ ,” Severus commanded him.

Harry obeyed, catching Severus' nipple in his teeth once more. For the moment, the vampire completely lost track of what he’d been trying to say. But his concentration was sharpened when Harry--never pausing his attentions--located one of Severus' still wandering hands and clasped it by the wrist. Harry wrapped the man’s fingers around something small and slender and hard, and Severus brought it to his face, struggling to focus on it.

A phial of headache potion? Why was he holding a phial of headache potion? Delayed, but then all at once, the significance struck him. He reviewed its manufacture mentally and realised eel’s eye lent the concoction a slimy, viscous consistency, and trace amounts of dittany provided mild but instant localised anaesthetic and healing properties. Perhaps the boy understood the implications of this act better than Severus had thought.

Then Severus reflected on how Harry might have known of the potion’s usefulness in this situation, and why he might conveniently happen to possess some. The hand in Harry’s hair used it to peel the boy from Severus' chest and draw him back to the man’s lips.

“Clothes,” he snarled angrily into the hollow of Harry’s collarbone. “Off. _Now_.”

Severus stepped away from him completely as Harry scrambled to comply, stripping his own remaining clothing with vampiric speed. Otherwise unoccupied, Severus watched the fantastic bunch of Harry’s sleek muscles under his taut skin as he struggled out of his clothes. He was trying to shed them too quickly and his haste hindered the process, to Severus’ benefit. As soon as Harry’s last foot cleared his stubborn trouser leg, Severus caught him in his arms again from behind. He ran his hands over Harry’s torso covetously as Harry sighed under his touch.

How dare he have planned to give so much to some random boy so soon. He was impetuous. Impulsive. Severus would have to teach the young man a lesson in patience. He ran his palm unhurriedly down the flat plane of Harry’s stomach, hovering teasingly over Harry’s twitching cock, and let him squirm.

“I’ve never been with a man before,” Severus confessed in a sultry purr in Harry’s ear. “But I must say, you’re rather stunning.”

Harry let his head fall back onto Severus' shoulder with a ragged, grateful sigh as the man finally, slowly, took Harry in hand. Severus had no experience whatsoever with this art, but Harry seemed just as pleased with the man’s efforts as Severus had been with Harry’s unseasoned treatment before. They were both on unfamiliar ground. Unfamiliar did not equate to unnatural, however. In fact, the exercise was almost instinctive and, to his surprise, Severus found it almost as enjoyable as Harry seemed to. The way the young man begged with the motion of his hips was no different than a woman might, and the satisfaction of eliciting a partner’s pleasure transcended gender.

“Pull my hair again,” Harry panted, to Severus’ delight.

He grunted approvingly, snatching up a handful of black strands and pulling Harry’s head back to smother him with another kiss. Loraina had been fond of this kind of aggression, as well, but Severus had often worried she was too delicate to withstand the severity she so vehemently requested. Somehow, that worry did not extend to the solid, strapping young man currently in his arms, and Severus thrilled at the possibilities.

“On your knees,” he commanded Harry coolly, as he had Loraina on many occasions.

The young man didn’t hesitate for a moment, dropping to the stone floor of their cell and bending forward to rest on his elbows. His obedience seemed almost out of character, which is what made it all the more gratifying. The sight of the very male genitalia dangling from between his spread legs was only slightly jarring and easily accepted when the arse the young man lifted in unquestionable offering was so bloody fucking perfect. Severus moaned approvingly and reached to caress it.

Ah, youth. The texture and resilience of Harry’s skin was delicious enough to be near enslaving. For a while, Severus found he could do nothing but appreciate its virtue.

“You should know,” Harry said tremulously as Severus continued to knead, “if you don’t already...Eric and I never made it this far.”

The hand on Harry’s arse clenched involuntarily and the young man gasped.

“ _Never speak that name in my presence again_ ,” Severus said in a low hiss. Harry nodded quickly and Severus forced his hand to relax.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, much more mildly, caressing once again.

Severus turned his attention to the phial he held, smirking as he pulled the stopper. It had no doubt been earmarked for Conners. That added yet another layer of satisfaction as Severus slathered the medicine on his own cock, leaving only enough to coat the fingers of his right hand.

He had known, however, that he would not make it through this without eventually confronting his demons, and the time for it seemed to be now as he worked to ensure the same were not born in Harry. The substance on his finger was cool as he shyly brushed it across Harry’s pucker. Severus swallowed his discomfort, denied his memories space in his thoughts. This was _not_ the same situation. This would not hurt the young man. Severus was not doing this out of malice. It would be fine. It would be pleasurable. Severus couldn’t quite understand how, but Harry already pressed back against his touch as if asking for more. Severus responded by massaging firm circles around Harry’s opening.

“ _O-oh gods,_ ” Harry shuddered, his head dangling between his shoulders. He hadn’t been exceptionally vocal so far, and it was wonderfully erotic. Severus’ misgivings were further eroded by every small moan that escaped the young man.

Matters were becoming urgent. He rested a hand on Harry’s hip and leaned over him to speak softly, “Are you ready?”

But Harry made no response, and all Severus’ insecurities came crashing back down around him. What if Harry hadn’t been voicing pleasure, but discomfort? He abruptly stilled his hand, horrified.

“No. Don’t stop!” Harry pleaded, allaying Severus’ worry. “I’m fine. I’m...I’m ready.”

Severus needed a moment to refocus himself. Then slowly, he curled his finger, pressing more firmly until Harry began to stretch to admit it. Harry stiffened, though, and Severus could go no further without force.

“You must relax, Harry,” Severus whispered, his voice drawn with desire. The young man struggled with the command for only a moment. Severus heard him draw a long breath and release it slowly, he felt him relax with the next exhale.

“That’s better,” Severus encouraged, stroking Harry’s back.

Severus bit his lip as one of his knuckles breached the taut ring of muscle, then the other, and soon Severus' entire finger was enveloped. Holy gods. _It was so tight._ Severus had never felt anything like it. It was silken and blazingly hot. Severus could imagine how it would feel clutching his cock and his hand shook with anticipation.

“Alright?” Severus asked him huskily. Harry nodded, and the finger withdrew, returned, working itself carefully in and out. Each controlled plunge met less resistance than the last. Harry pressed back into Severus' hand and worked his hips, wanting more. Severus obliged, adding a second finger, and Harry moaned as it slid home, stretching him further.

“I believe there’s meant to be…” Severus said, speaking mostly to himself as he turned his hand, twisting his fingers inside Harry and causing him to mutter encouragement. Severus curled his fingers experimentally, and before long they found the textured patch he’d been searching for.

Harry’s strangled cry rang throughout their cell and Severus felt a rush of pride. His erection, which had flagged while concentrating on the delicacy of his earlier efforts, blazed back into life. There was nothing more gratifying than hearing a lover cry out in response to one’s work. A stream of incoherent and suspectedly involuntary noises spilled from Harry’s mouth as Severus brushed the magic spot on every second or third thrust. The sounds threatened to inundate the man completely with lust.

“Snape,” Harry whined.

“ _No_ ,” Severus snarled, never slowing his assault on the boy. “Call me Severus.”

“ _Severus!_ ” Harry gasped, and the man very nearly came then and there. He hadn’t been sexually active in a while and felt himself more apt to prematurity than usual. He’d be damned if he wasted this opportunity, though. With effort, he wrestled his arousal back into submission.

“I want...” Harry went on, but he paused as if too embarrassed to voice his request. It was so endearingly innocent. Severus smirked even as he continued to work him, resolved to wring the words from Harry eventually.

“Can we? _Please._ ”

 _Fuck_.

Begging was Severus’ weakness. He could not deny such an ardent request. He carefully withdrew his fingers and checked again that he was still properly lubricated. He was shaking with anticipation. The moment of truth had arrived. For both their sakes, Severus refused to rush it. He admired the result of his efforts so far. What was once a tight bud of blushing flesh that had seemed almost impenetrable was now an opening, still small but elastic and quivering. He reached out a single fingertip to admire it before positioning himself closer and resting his aching cock there instead.

Severus summoned a breath what was suddenly painfully elusive. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice strained. He was more than ready himself. Harry took a moment to prepare himself, and Severus awaited his word anxiously.

The young man shook his head.

“No,” he said, and Severus could not quite catch the sob of disappointment that leapt from his throat. He could have wept.

Harry rose and turned to face him. “Not this way,” he said. “Sit down.”

Harry pressed on Severus' shoulders, urging him to the floor. The man was pliable in his heartbreak. But then Harry straddled him.

“I want to be able to kiss you,” Harry explained. “I like kissing you.” He blushed as he said it. Severus growled his approval of this new plan as he reached for Harry’s neck, bringing the boy to his lips.

 _Oh,_ yes. This was much, much better: Harry’s tongue in Severus' mouth, his cock brushing the man’s bare stomach. It seemed a strange thing to enjoy, but enjoy it Severus did. He had a fleeting and confusing urge to bend and take Harry in his mouth. Such a thing had never occurred to him before, but he veritably craved it the more he considered it. Perhaps it could be done later. Other things currently held urgent priority.

As they kissed, Harry reached behind him, taking Severus' slick length in hand. He’d not yet touched it and the sensation was new and fantastic. He did not pay it undue attention, though. Instead, he guided it back to his opening. Harry’s lips stilled but did not leave Severus' as he pressed back.

“Careful,” Severus said in a tense whisper. He didn’t _want_ Harry to be careful. He wanted them to come together with violent abandon, but he knew it could not happen. “You mustn’t tear,” he warned. “If I smell blood…”

Harry seemed to understand. He paused but did not stop, easing himself down over Severus' cock slowly. As stretched as he was, it still seemed impossibly tight. And for perhaps the first time in his life, Severus was glad he was not currently in control. Harry kept his breathing steady, relaxing his muscles gradually as he sank lower. Severus clutched at Harry’s thighs, not breathing at all. The urge to thrust his hips, and the effort required to quiet it, left no concentration to spare for less important things such as respiration. Their lips drifted apart as Harry’s head fell back, as he sank the last inch, seating himself firmly in Severus' lap.

Severus released the breath he'd been holding in a sated sigh. It was the epitome of perfection. Severus was no longer restive. He felt he could have sat with Harry like that for the rest of their lives. There were no words in any of the tongues of man sufficient to express what he was feeling, and it was pity Harry could not see the look of open worship Severus cast up at the young man. But then Harry tipped his head back down to face him, and his expression was just as beatific. _He was gorgeous._ The innocence had left his expression to be replaced with thoughtful knowledge. Though the young man might not realise it, they gazed at one another with the same wonder and gratitude and affection.

Of course, it could not last. Gradually, the seductive perfume that had radiated from the young man for as long as Severus had known him diminished. It hung heavy in the air still, but it was no longer being refreshed. Harry’s blood still murmured to him, but it was not the siren song of before. Harry had passed the threshold. He was no longer a virgin. Whether or not they continued, the worst of the danger was gone. Severus very nearly did weep.

“It is done, Harry,” Severus told him in a grieved whisper. “We _could_ stop...if that is what you wanted.”

Speaking the words aloud gutted him, but Harry had a right to know the truth. Whatever had gone through the young man’s mind before that had led them to this moment, the reality of the act was clearer to him now. Now that he was no longer in such danger, if he decided he did not want to follow through, he deserved the opportunity to say so.

“Do you?” Harry asked helplessly. “Do you want to stop?” There was pain in his voice. Disappointment. This really _hadn’t_ just been an attempt to lengthen his life. Harry wanted this. For some incomprehensible reason, he wanted it with Severus. And the man was so grateful he ached.

All question of willingness resolved, Severus took matters into own hands, securing the young man in place with one arm and shielding the back of Harry’s head with the other as he laid him down on the stone floor, keeping himself buried deep inside of him the whole while.

“I really don’t know why I asked. I’m not sure I could stop now if you wanted me to, Harry,” he admitted, pulling back his hips. Harry gasped as Severus carefully returned.

It was divine. He repeated the action and felt Harry unconsciously rake his nails across Severus’ flesh. It would be no good if the young man brought blood. Not that Severus disliked the concept, but the scent of even his own blood could still be perilous. Severus ran his hands down Harry’s arms and captured both his wrists in his hands. Harry was yielding, and his breath seeming to hitch as Severus drew them up to either side of Harry’s head. The erection straining against Severus’ stomach twitched as the man pressed Harry’s wrists firmly to the floor to restrain him.

Gods. _Harry was perfect._

Severus worked out the proper leverage for this new position before slowly thrusting again, and Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head. The feeling of Harry’s body gripping him as he sank into him was a revelation. Severus carefully thrust once more and Harry moaned, from the centre of his being, like breathing out his soul, and Severus was no longer simply a man. He became something possessed, an avatar of lust.

“Tell me you want it, Harry,” Severus gently commanded in his ear, thrusting again. Harry gasped. Writhed. Struggled to draw breath.

“ _Yes!_ Please, Severus,” he whined, wrapping his legs around the man’s hips. The sound of his name on Harry’s lips, spilled with such entreaty, was sweeter than blood.

“Tell me.” Thrust. “Tell me what you want, Harry,” he begged, hands still pinning Harry’s wrists, his lips falling to the boy’s throat. Harry’s skin was on fire.

“I-I want you…”

“Yes?” Severus prompted, thrusting again; slightly harder, slightly deeper.

“I want you to fuck me,” Harry panted directly into Severus’ ear, threatening the integrity of the man’s limbs. “ _Please, Severus_ ,” he keened softly. “Please, fuck me.”

Severus hadn’t expected those words. He'd expected Harry to ask him to ‘make love to’ him, or ‘have sex with’ him. But Harry had requested very specifically for Severus to _fuck_ him, and the man couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled back further than he had yet and slammed back into the young man. Harry was overwrought, undone. He tugged at Severus’ grip in an effort to reach for him, but Severus would not relinquish his wrists as he drove into him again, harder this time. Deeper still.

“Is that what you wanted, Harry?”

But Harry couldn’t answer for moaning, because Severus was fucking him faster now. All Harry could seem to do was mewl and gasp, driving Severus to the very brink. The man wouldn’t hold out much longer. Severus' teeth found their way to Harry’s shoulder, wanting so badly to puncture it. Severus groaned in resistance.

“Come for me, Harry,” he pleaded, drilling the boy properly now. _Gods_. The young man clearly enjoyed this. Why wouldn’t he come?

“ _Touch me!_ ” Harry finally managed to gasp. Severus only just staved off climax. He crossed Harry’s wrists over his head to grip them with a single hand so he could drop his other to Harry’s weeping prick.

It didn’t take long then. Severus managed two, maybe three strokes before Harry was crying out, spilling over Severus' fingers. The man moaned as the sticky warm stuff coated his hand. He trembled, thrust once more and then buried himself deep within Harry, spilling his own seed there. Severus didn’t think he’d ever had an orgasm more shattering. He rolled off of Harry to lay on his back, spent, one arm cast carelessly over the boy’s stomach just to still touch him as Harry continued to shiver. Neither of them could seem to catch their breath.

“Are you alright?” Severus fretted when he could manage. As his lust settled and faded, he realised, belatedly, that he might have handled the young man more roughly than intended. “Did I hurt you?”

Harry simply laughed, breathless, as he rolled closer in order to drape himself over the man.

“No,” he panted, smiling. “Not in a bad way."

Severus brought his arm around Harry, pressing the young man to him. The satisfaction was evident in Harry’s expression, and though Severus had worked hard to earn it, he still found it almost miraculous.

“No,” he agreed, stroking Harry’s arm, amazed that he was now allowed to do so. “Not in a bad way at all.”

 


	44. And Tumble Me into Some Loathsome Pit

**Before: Remus**

Three days had passed since the Full, and Remus’ hope had started to sour into a resigned grief. Remus had been livid when Albus had insisted he revert back after having found the entrance to this dungeon and to wait to enter until the others arrived. But it hadn’t mattered in the end. They encountered so many obstacles, Remus wouldn’t have been able to hold the transformation long enough, anyway.

The warren was more massive than anything Remus could have imagined, and it was old and neglected. Tests and deterrents of varying age and potency were scattered throughout, and they had obviously bested several who had come before them. Human remains littered the tunnels. Over centuries, dozens of enemies of the Malfoy family appeared to have met their end here, either by murder or the result of their own mischief, and most had been left to simply rot where they fell. 

They should have had the numbers to search fairly efficiently, despite the lingering enchantments, if the stones themselves had not seemed intent on driving them away. In most places, they were slick and miserable, and the going was treacherous even with no magical help in being so. Rainwater had exacerbated every weakness in the construction of the labyrinth and had brought down the ceiling in many spots. There were cave-ins, old and new, as well as the impassable remnants of traps long ago sprung.

The moisture encouraged infestations of all kinds. Uncrossable pools of stagnant water gave rise to bundimun colonies that rained acid spit on them as they passed. And where there were bundimun, there were flesh-eating slugs, feeding on the moldy pests and appropriating their acid to produce their own caustic secretions. Nests of what appeared to be dwarf Acromantulas had also established themselves in some tunnels, and the rescuers would fight their way through web and fang and blistering damp down one winding passage for ages only to find their hours wasted in dead ends of tumbled rock. Remus had just found himself at another and was dangerously close to breaking down when the messenger orb reached them.

“We’ve found someone!” one of the search party reported. “Come quick!”

Remus’ threatening tears of frustration were transformed into those of cautious gratitude just as they were granted permission to fall. He did not confer with the Order members at his side, and they could not hope to keep up with him as he chased the orb back to its source.

“Gor! Reeks of garlic, it does,” Remus heard a man emerging from a darkened cell complain as he dragged someone from it and into the corridor.

“‘Ere! Remus!” greeted Sturgis, relieved. “Give us a hand, would you?” he requested as he stumbled under the weight in his arms. He was mud-smeared and exhausted--they all were--but the dancing torchlight highlighted the worst of it, making them look dirtier and more sunken-eyed than they were.

Remus could tell, however, before he had even reached the man, that whoever they were liberating was not the quarry Remus sought. Though dirty enough to be mistaken as brunette, the hair dragging the ground beneath their listless prize was still long enough not to belong to Harry and light enough to not belong to Severus. Disappointment nearly brought Remus to his knees, and he had to force himself the last few steps before crouching beside an unconscious Professor Cobbleshot.

They laid her down for Remus to examine her. She was pale. She was always pale, but this was the cold bleach of corpses. Even her hair (what wasn’t coated in sludge) seemed more white than its usual piss yellow. The odor of garlic almost outstripped the nose-singeing scent of her infection. He could not detect the rise and fall of her chest, though the flicker of torchlight made the exercise tricky. He checked her pulse.

“She’s alive but fading,” he reported. She had no wounds that he could ascertain, but the strength of the poisonous gas she’d been steeped in had almost proved fatal. It might still. He wasn’t certain if the others had been aware of her vampirism before, though surely they were now. He didn’t bother explaining.

“Albus can help her,” he said, straightening. “You must get her to him immediately.”

Sturgis nodded readily, but he was weary, and Remus could tell the prospect of carrying the woman all the way outside was daunting.

“Can you get her feet?” Sturgis asked. “Barney got a nasty cut to his hand,” he explained, nodding to his companion who displayed a palm wrapped in a blood-stained makeshift bandage of plaid fabric torn from his own shirt.

“I can still carry the torch,” the injured man offered.

Remus was barely listening. He was staring down the dark expanse beyond the open cell door.

“Have you checked all of these?” he asked raising his torch, seeing several other prison doors thrown wide.

“Aye. We were drawn by the smell, even through the wood, but when we found this one here we checked the rest quick as quick to see if the young Potter might be close.”

Remus imagined the two leaving the poor woman to stew in the garlic-drenched cell as they went to look in the others before pulling her out. Not that Remus could say he wouldn’t have done the same. Though, no doubt, they were not guilty of the same brand of single-minded obsession as Remus. Order members were typically a tolerant bunch by default, but some prejudices are hard to shake, and he suspected a garlic-sick vampire was not highly prioritised in their empathy.

It didn’t matter now. Remus was about to commit a similar crime. The others would have to manage her as best they could. He had a feeling that if Loraina was here, the others couldn’t be too far away. At least, this seemed the most likely direction to search.

“Here, where are you off to?” Sturgis protested as Remus stepped over the senseless woman at his feet.

“Glinda will be by soon. She wasn’t far behind me,” he replied, already striding away. “I’m going on ahead.”

“Not alone you aren’t,” said Barney, adamantly. “Dumbledore was clear that no one-”

“I know damned well what he said,” Remus snapped before he could quell his misdirected frustration. He was beyond exhausted. He’d caught only a few hours of sleep here or there when their way was hindered and there was nothing to do but wait until the blockage could be cleared or a new way could be puzzled out.

“Tell Albus I’m going to go find my godson,” he growled determinedly. “And if he doesn’t like it, he can punish me as he sees fit once I’ve done so.”

And then, with no further argument, Remus stalked off into the dark.

For the longest while, there was nothing. No wards or guardians, surprisingly few patches of bundimun, and only a handful of skeletons. The tunnel was better maintained than any he’d been down so far. This was the way. He was sure of it; so sure that he barely slowed at the sound of shuffling and moaning further ahead of him. Whatever it was, he would dispatch it.

 _"What?_ "

Remus heard the question like a sigh; thought he was imagining the voice.

“ _What is it, Severus?_ ”

Remus’ heart missed a beat, but his feet continued to carry him forward. He saw something then, a dark mass that might have been a hunched figure. His eyes were tired, but they recognised the distance double glint of his torch on round-framed glasses.

“Harry, is that you?”

The question was louder than expected. He hadn’t been aware of speaking it aloud. It echoed off the stones as if the walls were gasping. It was almost too wonderful to be true. But it _was_ true. Harry was alive, and he was standing in the corridor in front of Remus, half shielded by a wraith that resembled Severus Snape.

“I've found them!” Remus called into his wand as he jogged forward, sending a messenger orb shooting back down the passageway behind him.

“Remus?” Harry sobbed. He staggered from Severus' grasp and down the passageway to meet the man as he rushed towards them.

Remus swept Harry up in a tight embrace, wondering fleetingly if he was really holding his ward. The young man felt less substantial than the last time Remus had had his arms around him. He was lighter, frailer, weaker; like a baby bird.

“Oh, gods,” Remus whispered, tears of relief and apology streaming down his cheeks. “Oh, Harry,” Remus wept into the young man's hair, kissing the crown of his head. “I thought I'd lost you. I thought…” he confessed tremulously, but he could not voice exactly what it was he had thought. It was too terrible and had come too close to speak out loud just yet. “I am never letting you go again,” he vowed in a vehement whisper, clutching the young man possessively.

Harry burrowed his face in Remus' chest, his arms circling him to return the embrace in feeble but sincere gratitude. And Remus breathed in Harry’s presence. The dank grease of his unwashed hair was the sweetest perfume Remus had ever scented. Remus knew he smelled of the same grime and sweat and poison air himself, even if he didn’t share the hint of piss, or the twangy smear of saliva from an unbrushed mouth on his neck…

Remus stiffened.

He sniffed Harry’s neck again. He bristled.

The wolf stirred, and he did not transform, but his senses sharpened and suddenly Remus detected other scents: fledgling bruises and recent arousal and the thick, lingering stink of the product of its satisfaction. He smelled the funk of rut that is almost exclusive to the copulation of two men, and Remus had to work very hard not to allow the sudden murderous impulse of his fingers to accidentally harden his embrace. Harry was not to blame for the violence that had obviously been visited upon him, and Remus must be gentle, especially now.

Whatever had transpired had done so recently, and Lucius had been in their custody for days.

“Severus,” he growled, glaring up at the man without lifting his face. “ _What have you done?_ ”

Remus always knew the man was a devil. Severus had almost swayed him, almost convinced him with his service to the Order that he was not the villain Remus had always supposed him to be. But bad blood will out, and what blood is more venomous than a vampire’s? He moved Harry gently to the side to stalk over to the other man. He couldn’t kill him. That might be for others. But he would deliver some justice for his godson then and there.

“I believe, Lupin, that I kept him alive,” Severus said, his chin rising defiantly just as Remus' fist connected with it, dropping the man to the floor. The impact was satisfying. Another would be more so, but Harry cried out behind him before he could deliver it.

“Remus!” Harry gasped, stumbling over to try and restrain him.

Remus had been shocked by the distress in his voice, was confused as Harry shoved him weakly to the side, tripping over himself to reach Severus and help the man unsteadily to his feet to lean back against the wall. Remus watched, his confusion giving way to a mild horror, as Harry lifted his hand to Severus’ face to tenderly finger the angry red stain Remus had left there. There was pain in the young man’s expression, as if he were trying to take Severus’ for himself, as if the damage had been inflicted on them both. Severus snatched Harry’s fingers from his face, but gently.

“Leave it, Potter,” he said quietly as he turned his face away. He looked...ashamed. He had anticipated Remus’ reaction and accepted it unflinchingly. Remus thought he could tell that Severus felt he had deserved the blow. Harry, however, clearly did not agree.

The implications left Remus winded. Harry did not consider himself abused. Harry sympathised with his defiler, his fellow prisoner, and it only just occurred to Remus that perhaps he should have, as well. Remus understood better than most the nature of a vampire’s curse, and Severus had never before seemed inclined to perversion. Well, not of that sort, at any rate.

Of course, it had been consensual, he thought. An unfortunate consequence of close quarters and lack of sustenance. A bid for survival. Likely, it was even Harry’s idea. And of course, Severus would feel guilty. Remus was suddenly ashamed of himself for striking the man. It couldn’t have been pleasant for either of them, must have been disagreeable but resigned and-

Remus couldn’t concentrate on that train of thought any longer, because Harry had stumbled back from the man, and the expression on his face obliterated the narrative Remus had been trying to spin in his mind. Severus would not meet Harry’s eye, and Harry was wounded by it. He was incredulous of the man’s apparent shame. He was offended by Severus’ reluctance to be touched...as if it were more than just a touch, as if it was something won by right that was now being refused and the denial hurt Harry’s feelings; hurt him deeply enough to rob him of breath, and he was reeling.

Harry looked to Remus then, lost, as if asking the man for help in making sense of his predicament. And all at once Remus understood. Remus recognised that imploring look on the young man’s face. But it didn’t belong to him any longer. It belonged to the man with a red stain on his chin who seemed pained by it and let his eyes slide shut with regret that he could not meet it.

Remus’ heart splintered in his chest. He had surrendered! He had been prepared to throw away anything and everything for Harry. He had given up on nobility and societal restraint and granted himself permission for them both to succumb to what they had started that night in his quarters at Hogwarts. He had finally buckled to Harry’s will.

But Harry’s will had clearly changed, and the blow sent Remus staggering. He had to lift a hand to the wall beside him to steady himself lest he fall to his knees in anguish. If he fell, he wasn’t certain he would ever get back up.

Harry, however, did fall to his knees; heavily, as if the toll of their ordeal had caught up with him. Remus’ own pain was eclipsed by Harry’s, and he was flushed with worry. But Severus, too, moved to assist the young man, his face evincing the same alarmed concern as Remus’ before he drew up short, seeming to remember he had no right to touch Harry, as if that was the price of his previous trespass and the punishment was self-imposed and burdensome. Remus knew the feeling well.

So Harry’s fondness was requited, then, he thought sourly. Remus still didn’t understand it, but he had no choice but to accept it. He refrained from touching the young man without permission, as well. Despite the tenacity of Harry’s embrace before, perhaps it was no longer welcome. Something seemed to have changed since.

They all remained where they were, awkwardly looking to one another. No one seemed quite to know what was allowed. No one knew what to make of this tangle of hurt or how to extricate themselves from it.

“Let's get out of this fucking hole,” Harry muttered bitterly, finally pulling himself to his feet unaided. “I'm ready to see the sky.”

Remus nodded and led the way, helping Harry walk in end after all, as Harry would not have made it otherwise and Severus trailed far enough behind them to avoid the temptation of doing the chore himself. The trek to the surface was somehow both brief and interminable. Remus was grateful for the opportunity to hold Harry in his arms, however chastely, but his grief in knowing what he’d lost made the contact bittersweet.

He’d been a fool. He had walked away. And in his absence, somehow, Harry had decided that another--that _Severus Snape,_ of all fucking people--was worthy of the affection that Remus had forsaken. It was no use being upset with Severus. Remus knew how reluctantly the man even tolerated other people, Harry in particular. He was not to be faulted for loving the one that Remus loved. No doubt the affliction had not been voluntary. And how could Remus be upset with Harry? He had abandoned him.

No. Remus had no one to blame but himself. And he did. With every shuffling step, each aching breath, he blamed himself for it all. If he had been there, none of this would have happened. Harry would not have been lost, neither in his affection nor physically in this stinking hell hole. Severus would no doubt have died if Harry hadn’t chased after him, as would have Cobbleshot, though Remus was abashed that he would have found that almost acceptable if Harry could have been spared this trauma.

The clean night air that met them when they emerged was not fresh to Remus. The entire world tasted of ash and bitterness, but Harry seemed to appreciate the breeze and the moon and the openness of the surface. It was Albus who caught sight of them first. The rest of the Order stood back respectfully for the Headmaster to meet them, though they seemed ready to rush to their aid if needed. Albus took the arm Harry didn't have slung over Remus' shoulder and helped carry the young man to a low-lying gravestone. It took him slightly longer than it had Remus, but Albus also noticed the unmistakable scent of possible criminality and shattered protection spells. He caught Remus’ eye for confirmation of his suspicions before turning a dangerous glare in Severus’ direction.

Severus didn't heed it. Instead, he rushed past them to attend to the still figure lying on the soft grass of a new grave, a tombstone at her head as if the plot were her own. Rainey looked only slightly less dead than she had in the dungeons, and Severus bent over her, checking her pulse before allowing himself to breathe again. Remus was almost angered by the tenderness with which Severus stroked the matted blonde hair from her face. Harry was watching, after all. Remus knew Severus had loved Rainey for much longer, however, though Remus had never been able to quite work out this latest incarnation of it.

Albus didn't even pause to speak to him or Harry before turning to apparently confront Severus, but Harry's hand went to the sleeve of the Headmaster's robe, clutching it in weak but determined fingers. 

“Leave him,” Harry warned.

Albus turned a questioning look back down on the young man, and Harry's eyes echoed the quiet threat in his voice.

“All of you. Do you understand me? Leave Severus the hell alone.”

Remus’ heart broke hearing the ease with which Harry called Severus by his given name, though it only broke a little. It was already shattered into such tiny pieces, there was scarcely more damage that could conceivably be done.

The Headmaster seemed momentarily shocked but recovered himself quickly.

“Of course, Harry. No one is threatening Professor Snape,” he said, clearly unsure what to make of Harry’s informal reference to the man.

Harry sneered, casting an accusatory glance up at Remus that caused the man’s cheeks to colour.

“The circumstances are simply...disappointing in their way,” Albus went on, defeated. “But of no consequence, if you are unharmed.”

Remus knelt beside Harry and searched his expression. Something had returned to it, a bit of the silent request Remus had seen once before, but this time carefully restrained.

“Harry, _did_ he-?” Remus began gently. He was going to ask if Severus really had hurt him, but the cold fire in Harry's expression caused Remus to change tact. Whatever his feelings about what occurred, Harry clearly would hear no ill spoken of the man.

“ _Are_ you unhurt?”

“I'm tired, Remus. And I'm hungry,” Harry sighed wearily and without animosity. “And yes, I am hurt,” he said, glancing over to where Severus still stooped next to Rainey. His voice was small and as fragile as cracked glass, and it made Remus ache. “But that was the Malfoys' doing, not Severus'. Can we please just go home now?” he finished in a pleading whisper.

“Of course, Harry,” Albus said kindly, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. He looked to Remus who nodded, and without another word, they apparated to Grimmauld Place.


	45. Presents Well Worthy

**Now: Severus**

Remus would not look at him. Severus was surprised by how deeply that hurt. He was unaccustomed to caring what other people thought of him. He was unused to caring whether he’d hurt another’s feelings. Hell, he made a sport of it half the time. But Harry was no longer the sole exception, and that realisation was disconcerting.

What he felt toward Remus had only realistically changed in a matter of the last several hours, but those hours had felt like days. Losing Remus’ affection and esteem only just as he was coming to accept them was jarring. That he realised that those things mattered to him was even more so. And the thing that had caused him to lose them was something Severus hadn’t thought about in years; an accident.

Severus had not reflected on the memory he’d witnessed. He had only considered it in relation to what it revealed to him about his own feelings. Severus had not judged the man for his thoughts or actions. He’d understood. All of it. Then he’d all but forgotten about Remus, too swept away by the startling realisation that he, also, desired Harry in a way that was not appropriate.

Severus turned away from the other man and hugged the backs of his arms, unable to bear seeing Remus not see him. He’d known in his heart that whatever had been between them was too strange and pleasant to last. For the first time that night, Severus felt as naked as he was. He missed his robes and the confidence they gave him. He missed the way they chafed just enough to remind him they were there. They made him feel invulnerable, imposing without him having to expend energy to add to the effect. They were like a warning sign to others to keep their distance. Would Remus have still been so familiar with Severus if he’d been wearing them, he wondered? Or, like with a widow’s red hourglass, would he have known to stay away?

A part of Severus wanted to beg the man’s understanding, but what if it did no good? And then he would have betrayed his need for nothing.

No. It was not a need. Severus _needed_ very little. He needed Harry whole, and he needed Substisanguinus, and that was the entirety of the list. Everything else was desire, and Severus could rise above such things. He had for years. Remus had only pursued him to please Harry, anyway.

Severus hated that he hated the man’s hurt despite that. He hated wanting to soothe it and not knowing how.

Though he did not watch it play to its end, the contents of Remus' memory rested in Severus’ subconscious and he could summon the details if he so chose, but he never had before. He did so now almost involuntarily. Like Severus, Remus had a secret pain he’d never shared with another living soul. To have it exposed involuntarily was a violation of the highest order. Though, Severus had not sought the knowledge. He did not want it now. He would have gladly given it up completely if it were possible, if it would heal the other man.

Should he say these things? Would it even matter to Remus, or would they just sound like excuses?

“Why are you the one who looks so fucking wounded?”

Severus raised a shocked and wretched look to the man. Remus so rarely cursed, and it upset Severus to hear him do so. Remus was looking at him now, but it was not the look Severus had wished for. It seemed to demand he surrender all those things Severus had just determined to be futile.

“I’m sorry,” Severus offered for a start. It sounded so pitiful and inadequate.

“ _Are you?_ ” For all the ferocity in his glare, Remus looked fragile. Weak and pale. He hunched over, hugging his stomach as if Severus’ trespass made him physically ill.

“Of course, I am,” Severus stammered. “It was an accident. I never intended-”

“Prove it,” Remus interrupted. Severus’ brow creased, unsure what the man required of him. “Prove your remorse, Severus, if it truly exists. Make it up to me.”

Severus shook his head, at a loss. “ _How?_ ”

“Show me.”

“Show you what?” Severus asked apprehensively, his heart tripping in his chest. Was he asking for some demonstration of affection like the ones Remus expressed to Severus?Though really, would that be so difficult or terrible? Difficult, yes. Terrible, not in the least. But they all knew Severus struggled with such things.

“Show me what Harry showed Loraina,” Remus said, scraping up what he could find of his dignity and pouring it into his posture. “Show me what happened in the Malfoys’ dungeon. Show me how you stole my lover from me,” he scowled.

Severus recoiled from his unblinking stare with a scowl of his own.

 _His_ lover? Harry had chosen Severus. Remus had turned the boy away, Severus had bloody seen it. Did the why even matter?

Of course, it did. It would have mattered to Harry. It might have made all the difference if he’d known the true reason Remus had denied him. They might very likely have also died if he’d chosen differently. Still, Remus was justified in his thinking, no matter how reluctant the Potions Master was to admit it. Severus was just so loath to give the man what he asked.

“I fucking knew it,” Remus muttered, shaking his head at Severus’ baulking expression.

Remus’ sneer hit Severus like a blow to the gut. It had been a test, and Severus had failed. He was every bit as disappointed in himself as Remus seemed to be in him. Was Severus just using the situation as a reason to feel sorry for himself, or did he truly care about the other man? Was this one memory worth more to him than Remus’ respect?

“You should lie down,” Severus whispered, almost as shocked as Remus was that those words had exited his lips. The werewolf regarded him warily. “You said you wanted to see,” said Severus, unable to entirely keep the resentment from his voice.

Remus clearly hadn’t expected the man to actually agree. Much of the harshness left his expression to be replaced by disbelief. With cautious anticipation, he lowered himself to the floor of Minerva’s office. Weariness was evident in his every movement but also determination. It would have been better to have had a bed, and more importantly, privacy; the light outside the window was growing brighter with each passing moment. But the matter seemed too urgent to carry to Grimmauld Place, and they had memories left to view. Still, this was important enough to put that task on hold.

As he approached the other man and knelt beside him, Severus realised this wouldn’t be the hateful chore he’d expected it to be at first. To an extent, he actually wanted Remus to see these things. It was not something Severus had given much thought to before as he hadn’t had the capacity at the time, but Severus could tell by the state of Remus when he had encountered them in the underground passage that the man had been through equal amounts of hell while they had been locked away. Severus could easily imagine Remus dead on his feet and still fighting his way unceasingly through the endless gauntlet of the dungeons, determined not to rest until he’d found his ward. He deserved to know where that young man had been and what he’d been through.

Even if he didn’t, Severus realised he wanted Remus to truly understand that Severus’ feelings for Harry were independent of the ones he’d internalised via Remus’ memory, contrary to what Loraina had supposed. He decided he would show Remus everything; every moment Severus had spent in the dungeons and not just what occurred after Harry had woken. He would show him Lucius’ impotent attempt to torture the young man, and also every thought and feeling Severus had had between then and the instant they stepped into the open air.

Severus was much more adept at isolating specifics in his mind than Harry. He knew how to snip exactly what he wanted from all that surrounded it. He took a deep breath and conjured the images he sought. Then he raised Remus’ wand to his temple and extracted the strand he’d composed. It was far longer than any he’d seen shared so far. Remus closed his eyes as Severus gave it to him, accepting it with a sigh.

What they’d witnessed in the Pensieve showed that time moved differently in memories. What Loraina had glimpsed took far longer to actually occur than Harry had held the memory in her mind. Even if Severus should remove this one prematurely, though, his own experience proved that one did not have to watch a memory to possess it. Still, he wanted Remus to actually see, and so he would leave it as long as he dared.

The man was not still. Remus gasped and mumbled, sounding like one asleep attempting to banish a succubus. Severus suspected Remus would be as fond of this nightmare as Severus was once he woke. The light outside grew brighter still, and Severus continued to hold the memory in place, but he was so tired. He stretched out beside Remus and braced his elbow against the floor to hold his shaking hand steady.

When he finally removed the strand, he was near exhausted. The night had been so long and the floor was comfortable. He slipped the memory back into his own mind and lay beside Remus while the man recovered. At first, Remus simply scowled at him, his expression resembling Severus’ far more than one of his own. Then his gaze began to clear and Remus returned to himself. His eyes softened, and that damned, bottomless empathy flared to life behind them. As Severus watched, they filled with tears. He wondered if something about the memory had provoked them or if the man was simply overwhelmed by the experience of being someone else for a time.

“Severus,” he sobbed quietly, rolling to face the man. The Potions Master wasn’t sure how to react. Remus shook his head, but his words wouldn't come. He laid a hand on the vampire’s cheek, too overcome to speak. Severus’ brow furrowed in answering distress and he patted the back of the hand on his face awkwardly. He really wasn’t good at this comfort thing.

“You would have done it,” Remus finally managed to whisper. Severus shook his head vaguely, not understanding. But before elaborating, Remus rose to his elbow to hover over Severus, startling him. He practically rolled on top of the man, and the sudden contact stole Severus’ breath. He was not used to being the one pinned beneath, but Remus looked down at him with such feeling, Severus couldn’t find it in him to object.

“You would have killed yourself rather than harm him,” Remus explained finally as if awed by it.

“Well, I-”

The rest of his thought went unspoken because Remus suddenly silenced the man by covering Severus’ mouth with his own. Severus couldn't find it in him to object to this, either. Almost against his will, his eyes drifted shut and his hand rose to lose itself in Remus’ sandy curls. There was gratitude in his kiss and what almost tasted like reverence; and though it lingered, it seemed to Severus to end too soon.

The vampire wasn’t sure what to say after. He wasn’t entirely certain what he thought. Remus didn’t seem to expect him to say anything. He was still dazed from the memory he'd viewed. Remus studied Severus, but while his gaze was sweeping and intense, his thoughts were clearly in the past.

“The way you see, Severus,” he said breathlessly, “it’s so beautiful. Harry is _so_ beautiful in the dark. But the thirst,” he grimaced, his eyes falling to Severus’ mouth and the fangs sleeping beneath his thin lips.

“And I never knew,” he said, jumping from subject to subject, thinking aloud as his mind worked to make sense of all it had seen. “You’d been locked in those dungeons before.” He shook his head, seeming pained by the vampire’s captivity. “You had no choice, Severus,” Remus insisted as if he had argued otherwise. Though, Severus wasn’t even sure what part of his past Remus was referring to.

“And something else terrible happened to you,” he mumbled, looking away as if trying to grasp it. “Something long ago. Someone hurt you, but…” Remus couldn’t seem to put his finger on it.

Severus shivered and his cheeks flushed. He’d not considered that those thoughts were included in what he’d shown the man. It had been so long since the memory occurred, he had forgotten he’d had them. He’d attempted to banish that remembrance at the time, not dwell on it, and thankfully Remus seemed unable to clearly understand. It was a testament to how far Severus had come since that he could tolerate Remus’ weight on top of him; that he found it comfortable, even.

Remus finally seemed to wake more fully and realise what he was doing, looking down at the way he was pinning the man as if tempted to be embarrassed by his unintentional forwardness. That passed quickly, and he decided to settle more fully against Severus instead, reaching up to brush the long strands of hair from the Potions Master’s face, causing Severus’ blush to deepen.

“What are you?” Remus asked softly.

“Besides a vampire?” Severus asked with a twitch of his eyebrow. Remus smiled.

“How are you even real?”

Severus scowled delicately in confusion. “Forgive me...but I don’t seem to understand what we’re talking about.”

Remus’ smile widened and he leaned down to kiss the tip of Severus’ nose, and the Potions Master was flustered by how warm and tingly it made him feel.

“You are the most unpleasant, surliest, best, most amazing man I’ve ever met.”

Severus gave a short laugh and cast Remus a baffled look. Clearly, the experience had damaged his mind.

“Thank you?”

“Thank _you_ ,” Remus whispered in return. Then he glanced up toward the window and sighed, looking back down at Severus apologetically. Severus rather hated to part, as well, but they both knew they must.

“We should finish it.”

Severus nodded, but he wouldn’t let Remus move away just yet. He held him there, raising his fingers shyly to Remus’ face and combing his shaggy hair from his eyes just as Remus was wont to do.

“I truly am sorry,” he told him. And he was. Not just for his trespass, but that Remus had had to experience all the things that trespass had shown. Remus gave him a thin smile, seeming touched by the physical gesture.

“I know.” 

Then Severus mustered his courage. Since it had occurred to him before, it had dwelt on his mind that he might show Remus a token of his fondness; to prove to them both it existed and was genuine. Hesitantly, he lifted his face toward the man, stretching for his lips. It was a leap of faith. He could not reach him the way Remus currently lay on top of him. He left it to the other man to decide whether to meet him halfway, refusing to entertain the nagging concern that he might choose not to and what Severus would do if he didn’t.

Remus didn’t seem to understand what Severus was attempting at first, but once he did, he appeared shocked. He stared at him, wide-eyed, and Severus’ cheeks flamed. What had he been thinking? He should never have ventured it.

He started to turn his face away in embarrassment, but Remus’ hand was suddenly on his cheek, holding him still. Severus could feel Remus' heart beating through the chest pressed against his own. The werewolf lowered himself toward the vampire slowly as though he was afraid he was misunderstanding the invitation. As soon as he determined that he was not, however, he wasted no time in closing the distance.

This kiss was much deeper than the last, slower but somehow more urgent. Severus allowed himself to become lost in it, to decide that he enjoyed the thinness of Remus’ lips and the way they cut the kiss from him, that he actually liked the prickle of the stubble on Remus’ chin. Neither Harry nor Severus could grow facial hair to save themselves, but Remus seemed to be in constant battle with his. It was so undeniably masculine, as was the broad bunch of the shoulders Severus wrapped his arm around now, and the muscular sweep of Remus' back. He was so substantial. He filled Severus’ entire awareness. Severus had noticed all of these things when they were together before, though at the time, he had supposed he was caught up in the moment. This was less about lust and more about desire, and the two were distinct. It wasn’t that it didn’t cause him to stir in the same way, but Severus didn’t need right now. He _wanted_ to run his fingers over Remus’ sharp jaw and his hand around his strong neck and his palms down his rugged chest. Though, if they didn’t stop, it would soon turn to need after all, and they didn’t have the time.

Still, the conclusion was reluctant, and the way they looked at each other after held the promise of later.


	46. O Monstrous! What Reproachful Words are These?

**Before: Severus**

After they were rescued, Severus spent three days in Lord Ruthven Hospital with Loraina. Though he’d consumed an entire week’s supply of Substisanguinus the moment he stepped foot back in the Castle, the physician attending her took one look at Severus and insisted he be admitted to the facility, as well. Severus could hardly argue. He was still so shrunken and haggard that he no longer passed as human. They allowed him to share Loraina's room as they fed him actual blood intravenously until he ceased to resemble a walking corpse.

Though he knew she would not be waking for some time, keeping vigil at Loraina’s bedside was a welcome occupation. He wasn’t particularly worried about her. They’d assured him she was going to live, and that was what mattered. Interacting with her was difficult at best, and if he never managed it again, he would not be overly bothered. But he liked knowing that she lived. In fact, he realised it was simply the uncertainty of it that had kept her emblazoned on his mind the whole while they had been apart before. However, he was in no hurry to return home, and he did not want to reflect on what had happened in those long days in darkness. He wasn’t ready to face their aftermath. 

He’d been confronted with it already, but only briefly. Albus had spoken with him in the hospital wing at Hogwarts while Severus was still dazed enough by the sudden and surreal normality of his surroundings to not truly be touched by the gravity of his situation. Recounting their ordeal to the Headmaster then had felt like explaining a strange dream immediately after waking, while only one foot rested firmly over the threshold of consciousness and the other still trailed in hypnagogic quicksand. The more he told the man, the more it seemed to him that what he was describing could not conceivably have actually occurred.

Predictably, Albus had been less than pleased, but he was not nearly as severe as might have been expected. Though, Severus realised he didn’t give a leprechaun's left bollock what the Headmaster thought so long as he allowed Severus to escape thinking on things himself, ostensibly by letting him escort Loraina to the specialised facility that would save her life.

His hospital stay was a respite, but after only a few days, the healers declared him fit to be released provided he rested as much and as often as possible until he regained his strength. It was strange to consider he’d spent just as long in the hospital as he had in the dungeon when the former experience passed in the blink of an eye and the latter had seemed to drag on for years. He returned to Hogwarts reluctantly, fully expecting to be treated as even more of a pariah than he had been before, but the staff was respectful. Considerate even. And Severus suspected Albus had not shared the most shocking details of what had transpired, though that was likely more out of consideration for Harry than for the Potions Master.

Or perhaps they were being kind to him because they knew the hammer was about to fall, he reflected, lying on his cot in the lab amid half a dozen neglected and ruined potions. Albus was away attending to the mess left in Lucius’ wake, but he would be back soon enough. And after all, how many teachers could say they were allowed to keep their post after admitting to sexually violating one of their students?

It _couldn’t_ happen, he thought, shaken by the possibility. He mustn’t be let go. If they fired him, he could never afford to brew Substisanguinus on his own. He had no savings. When he’d signed on at Hogwarts, he’d agreed to a significant pay cut to help cover the costs of his medication, many of the ingredients of which could only be legally obtained via the school. If he was not allowed to remain there, he would be consigned to a penniless existence on the fringes of society, feeding off rats and stray dogs like the transient revenants who haunted the filthiest corners of Knockturn Alley.

Or worse, without his proximity to Albus and the Order, the Dark Lord might decide Severus was no longer useful and far too familiar with his secrets. A liability to be managed. Severus wouldn’t last a month.

But the Order needed him, he consoled himself. Albus may loathe that necessity, but he wouldn’t toss Severus away. He couldn’t afford to. No. Things would go on as they always had, he was certain. Or they would be expected to, at least. So that simply left the problem of Potter.

Of _Harry_. And what a problem it was.

He couldn’t avoid thinking on it forever. The young man would eventually return, as he always did after a narrowly averted catastrophe, to play at being a normal boy who didn’t hold the fate of the world in his hands. And Severus would have to interact with him. The anticipation robbed him of sleep. Once he finally allowed it admittance, it plagued his every waking thought.

Severus hesitated to use the word love. But what else could it possibly be? The memory of the physical activities they had engaged in warmed his blood, but he knew that what he felt was so much more than carnal. He’d been prepared to die for the young man. He clearly remembered the peace he’d felt in making the decision. After Harry had revealed his mad scheme to blast through their cell door with a spell that would surely burn through the last of his strength the way a fire consumes oxygen, Severus’ bitterness had left him. He’d known what he had to do.

“We're dying, Severus,” Harry had reasoned. “Either we get out this door, or we're done. You said yourself we only bought ourselves a day at most. But you haven't had so much as a bloody rat in two. I don't think we're going to last that long. Or I won't. And while I can certainly think of worse ways to die, I don't want you to have to-”

Harry hadn’t been able to finish the thought, but Severus had understood him and had collapsed against the wall of their cell, knowing his time had come. If he did not do the deed, and then, Harry would persist in trying to save him. The dear, foolish boy; never as selfish as Severus had imagined him to be, simply oblivious and short sighted. He had been willing to risk his life to spare Severus the pain of killing him. But Severus had known he would not have to bear the guilt of taking Harry’s life, because he was about to take his own.  

“I'm sorry for what I am, Harry,” Severus had said, his wrist already rising to his lips where his fangs prepared to open it. There would be time enough to say goodbye after the wound was inflicted, when it would be too late to change course and he could bare his soul to the boy with no regrets.

“You didn't choose to become what you are,” Harry’d said angrily, causing Severus’ teeth to still against his skin. “Voldemort stole both our futures. _But I’ll be damned if I don’t choose my own fate._ ”

The resolute edge to Harry’s voice had been unmistakeable. Severus had heard it before. And he’d known suddenly, depressingly, that his death would be no deterrent, after all. Harry was going to attempt the thing, regardless. Moreover, how could Severus presume to deny the young man such a thing? So much of Harry’s life had been beyond his control. Didn’t he deserve the right to dictate his own death, as Severus was about to do?

And if, by some miracle, Harry survived the spell, what then? He could not hope to navigate the paths alone. He was all but blind, his glasses laced through with cracks. He was dangerously weak. He had no wand. Without a guide, he would only wander away from the one place they might eventually manage to find him and into some long forgotten oubliette, where his bones would rest until the name Harry Potter had passed out of all living memory. Severus’ wrist had fallen from his lips then in defeat. He’d helped the young man to dress, instead, fastening his own robes over Harry in lieu of the shirt Severus had ruined.

“You don't have to do this,” he’d told him as he took him in his arms after Harry had reached to him in a moment of uncertainty.

“You know I do,” Harry had replied, his voice trembling despite his determination. “But, Severus. I wanted to say I'm sorry: for all these years, for my disrespect. I didn't know. I thought...”

Severus hadn't been able to bear hearing it. Not in that moment, and not when he knew he was every bit as much to blame for their adversarial past as Harry was. He’d hushed him, pulling the young man closer and gently brushing his chaotic hair away from his face. 

“We've both been idiots, Harry,” Severus had said softly.

The young man gave a quiet laugh at that, dropping his forehead against Severus’ chest, which had been aching fit to burst at the thought that this might be the last time he saw that bashful grin lit with vitality.

“Thank you, Severus,” he'd spoken quietly after a moment, pulling away as he did, his green eyes shining up at the man with peace and surety. “For everything.”

Severus had been stricken as Harry moved away, taking the best parts of Severus with him. He'd felt he should not have let him go without saying all the things he’d intended to before, had he opened his veins. Severus had wanted to confess the depth of his feelings for the stubborn, courageous young man. He’d wanted to express his gratitude for Harry’s passion and vulnerability which had reawakened Severus’ stony old heart. He’d wanted to cry out that the risk was too great and that he simply could not go on living if he were forced to watch the young man die.

But all of that would have been selfish, especially as it would have changed nothing in the end. And so Severus had let his heart break in silence, convinced he was about to witness the last moments of the Boy Who Lived and feeling it his duty to do so.  

The spell had been fantastic, easily the greatest feat of wandless magic Severus had ever seen. It knocked him from his feet and sent shrapnel raining down on top of them. And after his vision had recovered from the blinding flash of Harry’s essence bursting against the cell door, he’d seen that, despite all odds, Harry continued to glow. It had been faint and fragile, but his heart was still ignited in his chest.

Severus had to get him to the outside world before that flame sputtered and died. He’d immediately taken up a sharp-edged fragment of stone loosed by the blast, prepared to use it to hack his way through the splintered wood, even if it took every last ounce of his strength. But when he’d reached it, he’d found the door already swinging free. Harry had succeeded in liberating them all on his own, the force of his secret self having punched a hole cleanly through the locking mechanism on their cell. Severus decided to save his wonder for later, had rushed then on unsteady legs to the torture chamber where magical torches still burned, hoping against hope that he might find their wands, or a healing elixir which Death Eaters frequently kept on hand to prolong a captive’s suffering, or some morsel of sustenance for the young man, at the very least. But he’d found nothing in the horrid room at all but rusting instruments of pain and the broken and diminutive body of a house elf. There hadn't even been anything Severus might hobble together into a makeshift device to help bear Harry through the dungeon.

So be it. If Severus had to carry him to safety, slung over one shoulder, he’d damned well do so.

And he had, slowly but diligently, up one stairway and then another. He had wound his way drunkenly through tunnels that had partially collapsed since he’d last walked them, been ready to lay the young man aside to do barehanded combat with any guardian that might stand between him and Harry’s salvation; until he’d finally stumbled and fallen, more exhausted than he’d realized, spilling Harry to the floor where the young man miraculously woke. The sound of his voice then had been the sweetest music Severus had ever heard in his life.

But did any of that constitute love?

Severus had thought so at the time. In the small dark of their cell with no tomorrow in sight, it had been a simple thing to accept, to embrace. Most people liked to use such situations to sidestep responsibility. They liked to say they ‘weren’t themselves’ or ‘the circumstances were extenuating’, as if they had become _other_ instead of their truest selves; as if they hadn’t actually been stripped bare and forced to grapple with the lies they told themselves when pretending was easier. Severus knew better. He would claim no lapse in faculty, not even to himself.

But would Harry use that excuse, he wondered? Would he disavow the Potions Master? Would he claim it had simply been hunger that had led him to lose hold of his reason? That it had been the prospect of death that caused him to allow the man to desecrate him? Would he deny that he had ever looked down on the cranky old vampire with sincere and tender adoration?

And who would ever believe him if he claimed otherwise?

Of course, he would use the circumstances to wash his hands of the man. As, perhaps, he should. Severus needed to accept the truth. It had happened, but it was not real. Not in the ways that mattered. It had been in the moment, maybe. It would remain so for the Potions Master forever. But he alone would remember its beauty; the brilliant, unlikely sacredness that had been born in such filth and darkness.

The trouble was, Severus wasn’t entirely certain how to go on. Doubtless, he’d make a good show of it. He was an excellent spy, after all. But he’d be an empty mask. How does one convince oneself that an occurrence of such magnitude simply does not matter, that life goes on, when all Severus could feel now was the gaping hollow the event left behind?

He could start by seeing the young man, he supposed. If he could be subjected to the disgust and shame and regret he’d see on Harry’s face and survive the ordeal, he could surely weather whatever came after. In fact, it might make things easier. He could stop fooling himself, then, with absurd daydreams of what might be, if only...if only a million obstacles could be swept aside, and Harry’s feelings had been genuine, and Severus could permit himself to allow them.

If only.

No one had apprised him of Harry’s condition the whole while he’d been back. They all seemed to be giving Severus his space, or else using that as an excuse to avoid him. His classes were still being covered by the substitute they had arranged to keep things running while Severus had been starving to death underground. And so he did not alert anyone of his departure or his destination. He didn't know who he’d encounter at Grimmauld Place. He was leaving Lupin behind at Hogwarts, he knew. Severus had not spoken to the man since he’d been assaulted by him, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about it or him. But whoever was there, it didn’t matter. Severus needed to do this.

He stepped through the front door of Order headquarters without knocking, as always, and glanced to the upper floors as if he knew instinctively where Harry rested and he might magically be able to see him through the solid walls that separated them. It was Albus who met him, stepping into the hall and into his path as if he had been waiting for the man. Severus nodded an uncertain greeting which the Headmaster returned, every bit as skilled as Severus was at masking his thoughts.

“Come and speak with me, Severus,” he said quietly. He did not wait for a response. He simply turned and moved unhurriedly toward the kitchen where he waved Severus to a seat at the table.

It was bizarrely pedestrian considering the circumstances. The Potions Master thought he might have been offered refreshments if he’d been able to partake. For once, Albus did not seem inclined to tease him over it. He took a seat opposite of Severus and steepled his fingers on the table before him.

“Why are you here?” he asked after a thoughtful silence. It was a softly spoken question and a seemingly genuine one. The Headmaster studied him with gentle scrutiny as he waited for an answer.

Severus took longer to respond than he should have. He’d been feeling so lost these last few days, and though Severus knew better, something about the Headmaster always seemed so kindly and worthy of confidence. Severus half suspected Albus employed a glamour. He felt certain his innermost thoughts were not safe to share, however, and he quickly quashed the urge to speak honestly.

“To see how the boy is recovering, of course,” said Severus, matching the mildness of Albus’ tone.

“He’s been attended by healers,” Albus assured him. “Poppy has been visiting daily.” He returned Severus’ unperturbed look as if asking what other excuses the Potions Master would like to try.

Severus hadn’t really prepared any.

“I might be able to brew him something tailored if need be,” he offered, affecting a generousness they both knew he did not generally possess.

“Are you certain there isn’t more to it?”

The challenge was gentle but bald-faced. Was Albus bluffing? Or was Severus’ languishing just that obvious? And for whose sake did he ask? Severus narrowed his eyes at the man.

“What are you implying, Albus?”

The Headmaster sighed, looking suddenly but regretfully resigned. _This is it_ , Severus thought, his heart sinking. _I’m to get the axe, after all._ He tried to prepare himself, to buttress his dignity and accept the sentence with grace. But his imminent impoverishment and demise leered at him over Albus’ slumped shoulder.

“I may be an old man, Severus, but I was not always,” he began, unfailingly roundabout. “I know we have discussed what happened, and being the spy that you are, you betrayed nothing at the time. But Harry is not so skilled as you,” he informed him.

Severus’ heart skipped a beat. What were they talking about?

His confusion must have been evident. “I have been Headmaster to adolescent Witches and Wizards for many, many years now, old friend. I know the look of the lovelorn,” Albus confided.

Comprehension began to dawn on the vampire, and he struggled to muzzle a cautious and heretofore doomed hope.

“Whatever passed between the two of you in that dungeon was clearly not merely perfunctory. And knowing you as I do, I also know that it could not have possibly been otherwise if the feelings involved were not somewhat mutual.”

Albus watched him expectantly, but Severus wasn’t certain how he was meant to respond to the pronouncement. It seemed subtly reproving, but Severus did not have the capacity for shame as he was filled suddenly to bursting with gratitude. He looked away from the Headmaster’s inscrutable gaze, too overcome for a moment to feign the appropriate indignation.

“We were facing death, Albus,” he said carefully when he was finally able. “Would you rather I had been cruel?” he asked, turning the Headmaster’s condemnation back on him. “I was trying to keep him alive. What was done was not optional at the time. Would you have had me scar him to preserve propriety?”

“I have accepted that what happened was unavoidable,” Albus replied with equanimity. “But I suspect strongly that necessity was not the only impetus.” Severus filled is lungs to voice his exception but the Headmaster waved for peace. “I don’t mean to judge, Severus,” he said sincerely, heading him off. “In fact, I’m grateful it was more than cursory, for both your sakes. But you’ve emerged from the dungeon now,” he concluded with a pointed but sympathetic look. The one Severus returned was far less charitable.

“Meaning?”  

“Think of all you’ve sacrificed for his sake already, Severus,” Albus said, almost pityingly, as if he found the man’s predicament genuinely tragic. “And that was when you disliked the young man. Can you not make another for him now?”

Severus did not respond, he simply stared at the man coolly.

“If you truly care for him, you will turn him away. If you dare to take this further, I cannot condone it.”

The warning had been gentle but unyielding. Severus no longer had to feign his offence.

“You cannot believe I _ever_ thought to encourage-”

“You must do more,” Albus interrupted firmly. “You _will_ discourage his attention, Severus,” he went on, his compassion beginning to run thin. “By whatever means necessary. Have I made myself understood?”

Severus’ only answer was to rise to his feet, his salty stare bordering on hostility, before sweeping from the room and away from Grimmauld Place.  

 


	47. Do This, and Be a Charitable Murderer

**Now: Severus**

Remus crawled from on top of him, and Severus rose stiffly to his feet before bending to help Remus to his. The man was unsteady, but then, Severus had been off kilter for quite a while after his encounter with Remus’ memory before. They shuffled over to the Pensieve together and agreed without words to enter it.

“That’s what he was wearing tonight,” said Remus when they landed in the Forest, pointing out the button up that was currently laying on the floor of Harry's bedroom.

“I should have gone with him when he asked,” Severus said ruefully. Looking back, he recognized Harry’s reluctance to hunt alone. Severus had warned the young man against trusting Loraina and Harry seemed to have taken it to heart, avoiding the forest for days while Severus worked on his potion. Then, when he needed him most, Severus had thrown Harry to the wolves.

The predator in question wasted no time in materializing.

“I’d almost thought you’d forgotten about me, Lovely,” Loraina said when she fell into step beside him. Something about her was off. She was too restive. Harry’s absence must have unnerved her. She'd worried he’d changed his mind. No doubt she’d spent the time alone devising a way to sway him, and there was no telling what she had planned.  

“I’ve been busy,” Harry hedged.

“Busy avoiding me, you mean,” she said with a smirk. Harry struggled with a response, but she shrugged and nudged his shoulder with hers. “It’s alright, Lovely,” she said. “I understand. I have to be rationed. But you’ve been away long enough now to miss me, I’m certain,” she said, her flirtation a touch too desperate to be effective.

Harry sighed. “Loraina,” he began tactfully, but she cut him off.  
  
“Tell me you’ve missed me and I’ll give you a present,” she said, her steps bouncy and her expression frighteningly eager. Harry winced.      
  
“We should talk,” he said hesitantly. “I really don’t think-”  
  
“No, not _that_ kind of present. Though, that offer always stands,” she added with a quirk of her eyebrows. “This present you’ll accept, trust me. Go on. Admit you’ve missed me,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Fine, I’ll give it to you anyway,” she pouted when he failed to respond. “ _And_ I’ve got a memory lined up for you, too,” she added, brightening again. Her shifts were whiplash. She had always been so childlike when she was excited about something, but the dark turn in her interests made the effect more chilling than charming.

“It’s special,” she assured him.  
  
Harry stopped walking and looked at her, shuffling awkwardly. The enthusiasm in her expression was frail, unsuccessfully masking her insecurity. Severus could practically see her willing him to play along. Harry stared at her for a moment, looking wisely a bit frightened of the brittle hope in her eyes.

“A present?” he asked carefully, as one might speak to a toddler to avoid a tantrum. Her smile was relieved, and not a little manic.  
  
“Come see, Lovely,” she whispered before turning and setting off with no other explanation. Harry sighed, hesitating only for a moment before following her at a sprint.

Severus saw the look of panic in Remus’ eye, but Severus wasted no time in scooping him off his feet. He swept an arm under the man’s knees, cradling his shoulders in the other as Remus looped his arms around Severus’ neck. This is how he should have carried the man before, but he’d shied from the intimacy of it. That was no longer an obstacle. Remus was larger than Severus was, but Severus’ arms were strong. His pace could not match theirs, but they were not running in earnest, and Severus managed to keep up well enough that the memory’s boundary did not trip him from behind. 

It seemed Loraina would run forever, though, and Severus could not manage this rate for much longer. He very nearly dropped Remus when she finally slowed to a halt outside a clearing in an unfamiliar area of the forest. He staggered and fell to his knees with him, and Remus climbed from Severus' arms to kneel beside him and stroke his back as the vampire attempted to catch his breath.

Loraina was so excited when she turned to Harry that, for a moment, she couldn’t seem to form words. Her mood infected the young man, and he glanced at the clearing almost giddily.

“The wards end not far from here,” she told him when she had collected herself. “Only so much of the forest is in Hogwarts keeping. It’s vast. Once you pass the boundary, you can Apparate, did you know that?”

Severus was not as thrilled by this knowledge as she was. He and Remus exchanged a worried glance, and the werewolf quickly helped him to his feet.

“I didn’t drag him very far in. Just enough that he couldn’t easily get away,” Loraina went on, and Remus and Severus turned a startled look to the clearing and the hut standing at its far edge. “I made this space my own a while ago. The Centaurs steer clear. There’s a hag nearby, but she knows better than to cross me.” Loraina's manner shifted from giddiness to something that could only be described as arousal.

“What I’m saying, Lovely,” she sighed as she slunk closer, “is we have complete privacy here.”  
  
“For what, exactly?” Harry asked uncomfortably, taking a step back.  
  
“For whatever you want to do to him,” she whispered. Harry looked to the clearing, stepping around her to drift closer to it. The two men went with him.

“Who?” Harry asked absently, even as his gaze turned steely. Severus was fairly certain they all knew who waited for him within.

Loraina only grinned as she followed him. Harry wasn’t paying her any mind, anyway. He made for the treeless, moon-flushed space with gradually increasing speed and determination, approaching the door to the hut as if in a daze to push it slowly open on its rope hinges. Severus and Remus slipped inside behind them before the door could swing to a close.

“It’s so dark,” Remus whispered. Severus glanced over to see him squinting in the pitch and pulled the wand from his pocket without comment to brighten the space for him. But the light at the tip of the Cypress wand faltered and threatened to go out. Severus frowned at it, shaking it to make it behave, but that only made the flickering worse.

“Here, let me,” said Remus. “It’s temperamental with others.” He gently took the wand from Severus’ hand, and the instant it recognized its owner, the light steadied and blossomed. They both turned their attention to what it illuminated.

A man hung by ropes from the ceiling, his arms outstretched in a mockery of crucifixion. He had clearly been here for a while, if his stench was any indication, though the pulsing glow of his heart still seemed strong enough. All of the color had drained from Harry’s face as he looked at the man, and Severus saw recognition in his eyes. The Potions Master had to assume this was His Highness, Prince William. Severus felt his fangs unsheathe as he turned back to look into the face of the man who had ripped Harry’s future from him, and he dearly hoped Loraina had made the man’s stay as unpleasant as possible.

Harry’s fingers twitched at his sides and hate dripped from his expression. Loraina strode up next to him, all playful girlishness gone.

“Do you like my gift, Harry?” she asked softly, snaking an arm around his waist. “I got him for you before the Ministry could rob you of him. I know how important this is to you. Just as well you kept your distance. The Mut’s only now run its course. He should be clear-headed by now. Not so impervious to pain,” she intoned with clear insinuation. “He’s stubborn, too. This will be fun,” she said, a smile in her low, darkly anticipating voice.  
  
Harry looked down at her with an expression that ignited Severus’ jealousy. He very clearly approved of her gift. Harry did not actually give her the kiss she seemed to stretch for, though Severus had been concerned for a moment. The young man forced himself to look away from Loraina and back to his new plaything, pulling away from her to circle him slowly.

“You’ve fed from him?” Harry asked curiously, observing several angry punctures on the man’s neck.    
  
“Oh, just a bit,” she shrugged. “I thought we would be disposing of him later anyway, so why not? He’s only just starting to sweat. Pity he’ll never know the Madness,” she sighed. “I’d have liked to have watched it destroy him.”  
  
“Oh, he’ll know madness,” Harry told her quietly. Loraina shivered with anticipation when she met his hard gaze, breaking into a slow, almost indecent grin. Remus, however, was stricken.

“Severus,” he whispered, dread in his voice. “This can’t be happening.”

The man’s distress woke Severus from his own vengeful bloodlust and allowed him to look on the scene objectively once again, and he shuddered. He understood Remus’ heartbreak, but he also understood Harry’s glare and the pain it promised the bound man. There was nothing they could do about it, regardless.

They watched as Harry pulled a stool from the corner and set it in front of the man. Then, to their confusion, Harry started to shed his clothes, setting them neatly to the side before seating himself on the stool with only his wand.

“Wake him,” Harry told Loraina. She smiled and lifted her wand, casting a whispered _Rennervate_.

The captive stirred and then woke with a start, struggling weakly to find his feet and take his weight off his wrists. His hands were purple. They would never work properly again. Standing didn’t give him much slack, though, and he was still so unsteady he ended up dangling anyway, his weight thrown forward as he turned his attention to his surroundings instead of his balance. It was dark in the hut, but the quarter moon outside seemed to provide enough light for the man to at least determine he had company. His expression was surprisingly sharp to be so exhausted, and his scowl was quick. He struggled to focus on Harry’s face. He was angry and apprehensive, but he wasn’t afraid. No doubt, he’d already realized he wasn’t leaving the forest alive.

Harry whispered a _Lumos_ , and Remus let his own wand extinguish. Harry’s was held loosely in the hand the young man rested on his bare thigh as he sat cross legged on a stool in front of his prisoner. The first thing illuminated was his nakedness. His Highness glared at it before he lifted his bloodshot eyes to Harry’s face. The man scoffed.  
  
“I’d heard whispers that you were a deviant. With that dour as fuck Cocktail Mixer,” he sneered, furrowing Severus' brow. “But I didn’t think it could be true. ‘Specially not of that old fuck.” Severus peeled his lip back in a silent snarl. “Guess I was wrong,” the man muttered, coughing and spitting on the dirt floor. “Wot you gonna do, then? Stab me with your meat wand, you filthy poofter? Lucky for me the thing’s so fuckin’ small.”

It was ridiculous bluster. Harry was far from poorly endowed. Just what in hell did the bastard have hidden in his own pants by comparison that he could even say such a thing with a straight face? Harry was unprovoked, however. He simply stood and lay his wand on the stool to continue lighting the space as he circled the villain. Though he didn’t seem to be doing anything but taking in the sorry state of him, Remus’ hand found purchase on Severus’ forearm. The vampire could feel him tremble.

When he made his way back to it, Harry bent to look the man in the face. William’s eyes held a low-burning anger. And challenge. Harry’s own expression betrayed nothing.

"Would you like me to show you why I’m naked?” he asked softly. William’s lip curled in disgust.  
  
“Not especially,” he drawled. “Reckon you’re just a fuckin’ pervert.”

Harry shrugged. “Just didn’t want to ruin my clothes, actually.”  
  
“Wot ‘with my blood’?” William asked flippantly. Harry shook his head.  
  
“I can spell out stains,” he explained calmly. “Harder to fix rags.”

Remus’ grip turned almost painful. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. Severus gave him a sympathetic look and pried the man’s fingers from his arm in order to slip it around Remus’ waist, holding his grasping hand now in his own.

William looked at Harry apprehensively, and the young man gave him a slow smile. The man betrayed his first hint of fear at the sound of Harry’s snapping bones and the audible rip of tearing muscles. Remus could not watch, and Severus held him tighter. William yelped when Harry’s face, so close to his own, contorted. He turned his to avoid Harry’s lengthening muzzle. The transformation ended with Harry’s leathery snout tapping William’s cheek with each pant, blasting hot breath in the man’s face that lifted his greasy hair while William grimaced as if already in pain.

Harry had managed the transformation without crying out once or losing his footing. It had been a frightening performance, and Severus was finally as unnerved as his companion. He understood Harry’s thirst for retribution, but his unflinching metamorphosis spoke to a level of hatred Severus almost wept to see in the young man. He knew he was about to witness Harry commit acts he would never have previously thought him capable. This was not theater. This was a vow to the man that his end would be just as unpleasant as he feared.

Harry growled quietly, causing the man to whimper as Harry opened his maw and licked the trickling sweat from William’s face with a long, slow swipe of his flat tongue. He licked his lips, seemed to like the taste, and then he roared in the man’s ear. William’s cry was lost in the noise which was neither wolfish nor vampiric, simply inhuman. It was haunting, and even Severus was set trembling at the sound of it. Despite clear effort to suppress them, William released a trickle of tears, and Harry licked them away as William shuddered before stepping back with a satisfied purr.

“Wot in merciful Hell are you?’’ the man stammered, finally daring to look up at him. Harry pushed off his hands and rose to his full height, further cowering the man, and he wheezed through his fangs in what Severus could swear was laughter.  
  
“And just what did you think you were feeding him that day?” Loraina asked, stepping from the shadows to lovingly stroke Harry’s jet black fur. “You should ask more questions before agreeing to meddle with legends.”    
  
William fought to collect himself. He was clearly well acquainted with Loraina, and now he seemed to remember his hate and his defiance. He couldn’t completely quiet his tremble, but his glower returned.

“Well, get on with it then,” he spat. “Reckon you’re about to do to me wot you done to Timmy. Fuck it, and fuck you,” he hissed.

So she hadn’t just killed the man. She’d sent a message. Severus was not surprised. She liked to let people know when they were marked. She delighted in imagining their sanity unravelling, the way they must jump at snipes until she finally came reaping.

Harry fell to all fours again, snuffling at William as he moved behind him. The man’s bravado failed him when Harry rose and placed a paw on each of his shoulders. He cried out in pain as Harry’s weight tightened the grip of the bonds around the man’s already damaged wrists. William didn’t scream properly, though, until Harry gently placed his jaws around the man's neck.  
  
Severus winced, wanting to close his eyes to the violence to come but not wanting to take them off Harry. Severus had never seen a wolf attack, had only ever seen the evidence of one in the mangled trophy Remus had returned with after Black had fallen through the veil. That had been certainly gruesome enough. Perhaps that was why Remus was so bothered. He’d been in the same place once as Harry was now, and Severus knew he had regretted it ever since. Harry had told the Potions Master Remus kept the souvenir in his bedroom as a reminder of the savagery he was capable of but must never succumb to again.

Severus forced himself to watch Harry’s fall from grace. He needed to know just what he would be helping the young man combat in the days to come when his hatred cooled and his guilt set in. The bloodwolf tightened his jaws carefully, letting them sink into the dirt-caked flesh beneath them until Severus smelled the rich perfume of the man’s blood. He didn’t bite further, though, and Severus realized, with no small amount of relief, that he was feeding.

As with the stag before, the swoon carried Harry back to himself, and he transformed with his mouth still locked to his meal.

“Loraina, heal these,” he panted as he fell away from the man, once again human and naked. She cast the requested spell without comment.

“No wonder you snacked,” Harry murmured, his mouth still dripping crimson as he made his way back to her. If Severus had had his druthers, Harry would never have known the ecstasy of feeding directly from a human heart. It simply made the thirst that much more difficult to resist when circumstances were not ideal.

“It is a rare delicacy if one does not fancy Azkaban,” Loraina agreed with a smile, running a finger through the blood that stained his face before bringing that fingertip to her lips and licking it clean. She shivered, then she boldly rose to tiptoe to lick the rest directly from the corner of Harry’s mouth.

Severus was too shaken by all the rest to be too upset by it. She was irrepressible. Less easy to ignore was the way Harry’s hands found her waist to steady her as she finished the job. The bloodlust was heavy on him, and the sight of his arousal in response to her actions made Severus feel mildly ill but not necessarily angry.

Surprisingly, she did not take advantage of his vulnerability. She placed her hand gently on his cheek and drew back to allow Harry to slowly return to himself. He looked down at her with an expression of confusion but also gratitude. There was no doubt he’d have reciprocated if she’d decided to be more daring. She smiled at him knowingly and stepped clear of him, withdrawing again to the shadows to leave him to his sport.

“Not a complete faggot, then,” William muttered, eyeing Harry’s erection with disgust. The comment lacked bite, though. He looked surprised to still be alive, though far from grateful. Harry, seemingly lost in thought as he looked after the retreating woman, redirected his attention to William and sighed. He seemed to have lost interest in their game, but the man still needed to be dealt with.

Harry found his clothes and worked his way back into them as he spoke. “Who hired you to attack me?” he asked calmly, closing his trousers over his lingering arousal.  
  
“Fuck you,” William spat. His strength was almost spent, but his spite seemed in abundant supply.  
  
“You realize I’m going to torture you,” Harry said plainly, moving to his shirt buttons.  
  
“You think I’m afraid of pain? I was in the war, you little shit,” he sneered. “Watched _you_ cut down me best mate with some spell I’d never even seen before. From your fuckin’ forehead. Fuckin’ freak,” he muttered, his voice thick with loathing. “Besides, do you have any idea how long I’ve been takin’ bloody Mut? Might not have any in me right now, but after a while it don’t matter. The withdrawals hurt more than anything you could do to me. You couldn’t cause me enough pain to make me tell you fuck all.”  
  
Now dressed, Harry walked over to the stool and reclaimed his wand, taking a seat. “I don’t need to make you feel pain. I just need to make you remember it.”  
  
William mimed gagging at Harry’s crypticism, and Harry sighed again. Talking to the man was undeniably tedious. Harry’s wand went dim as he used it to cast a different spell, and Remus lifted his once more. By the time it was lit, William’s bonds had been cut, and he writhed on the dirt floor, trying to roll to his back as he cradled his worthless hands to his chest. Harry walked over and crouched at his side.  
  
“I tested this on our friend Tim,” he explained conversationally. “He wasn’t as tough as you, but somehow I think it will still be effective. You know,” he said, the complete lack of concern in his voice more chilling than the hate that had saturated it before. “I had thought about setting you loose in the forest and letting you run for a while before I went wolf and hunted you down,” he mused. “Maybe ripping open your abdomen with the handy new claws you gave me, eating you alive slowly while you screamed for death.”

Remus cursed quietly under his breath. William simply sneered, not half as frightened by the suggestion is he was disturbed by it. He threw the young man a look of disgust. Unaffected by his glare, Harry regarded him as though the idea still appealed to him.

“But that’s nothing to what you did to me, honestly,” he went on, sitting finally and resting his arms on his knees, “as you are about to find out. Besides, after I’m through, I don’t think you’ll be able to run,” he said, considering the man beside him. “I’m afraid your mind just might turn to mush. Of course, the humane thing to do then would be to put you out of your misery, but I haven’t decided, yet, if I’ll feel merciful at that point. Depends on how much you can tell me, I suppose.”  
  
William answered by spitting in Harry’s face. The young man calmly wiped the stuff from his eye, then he turned unhurriedly to punch the man in the jaw hard enough to dislodge one of his few remaining teeth. Remus and Severus flinched at the casual violence, but William never made a peep. He simply took a moment to recover and then fished for the tooth with his tongue so he might spit that bloody thing at Harry, as well. Severus smirked. William was a tough bastard, you had to give him that. Though it fell well short, Harry's answering blow went to the man’s stomach. This time William groaned and curled in on himself.  
  
“That one got away from me,” Harry said, almost apologetically, shaking out his hand. “I haven’t learned to gauge this new strength, to be honest,” he sighed. “I would imagine you’ve got some internal bleeding now, though, so that’s good. You should die whether I feel merciful or not. Eventually. That should cheer you up a bit.”

Remus’ eyes drifted to a close and he hid his face in Severus’ shoulder. Severus held him bracingly, coaxing him to lift his face and look him in the eyes. The man was near tears.

“It doesn’t mean we’ve lost him,” Severus whispered, trying to be reassuring. Though it was difficult. Severus had been present when Harry had cast the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord. Even then, with all Harry had lost, it had been an act of passion, made possible only by Albus’ death. This was so far removed from that, from who Harry had been, that he scarcely recognized the young man.

“He’s still in there. We can bring him back.”

Remus was too grief-stricken to respond, and so Severus simply stroked his back, turning his attention back to Harry.

A memory dangled from the young man’s wand. Unlike Timothy, William's screams were instantaneous. Harry appeared to have bypassed the prelude and started the memory at the point the potion had taken effect. He was disturbingly undisturbed by the unending chorus of the man’s agony. Loraina, however, appeared to enjoy the sound. Severus had practically forgotten she was present until she took a seat beside Harry with a contented expression. Severus tried to hate her for what she’d led Harry to become, but he knew she hadn’t done it to destroy him. She thought she was setting him free. She’d given him what she would have wanted.

Harry had no attention for the man he tortured. Instead, he studied Loraina as she serenely watched their captive’s face turn red and his veins bulge in his neck from the force of his cries.

“You shouldn’t talk to Remus,” he told her, practically shouting to be heard above their guest.

Remus woke to the sound of his name and frowned at the young man, but Severus wasn’t certain if it was because Harry was discussing him to the woman or if it seemed an odd thing to so casually bring up at a time like this.

“Or at the very least, don’t give him whisky, for Merlin’s sake. I actually think he might be developing a problem.”  
  
Loraina smirked. “You are not Lord of my Manor, Lovely. You cannot rule me.”

“But I am lord of mine,” he pointed out, “and of Remus.”

The comment made the man’s scowl deepen, and he untangled himself from Severus to turn and give Harry a properly disapproving look.

“I thought it was the other way around,” Loraina countered with a lift of her eyebrow.  
  
“Please,” Harry scoffed, aggravating Severus as well now.

“Because I like you, I’ll consider it. Or I may not,” Loraina sniffed with a dismissive shrug. Harry shook his head at her, unable to repress a smile.

“Crazy bitch,” he muttered fondly. She gave him a delighted, decidedly unhinged smile.  
  
“Tetchy brat,” she returned.

The scene was officially surreal. Two thirds of all the lovers Severus had ever known were flirting with each other by trading insults while a man was being tortured to death beside them. Harry winked at her and then turned his attention back to the poor sod, gently lifting the memory from the man’s mind but not yet returning it to his own. He waited patiently for the man’s eyes to clear and for him to recover himself. It took a long while, and he was unusually still when he finally regained the power of speech.  
  
“Merlin’s Dickbeard,” William rasped with a shudder. He looked up at Harry with something almost like admiration. “How in hell did you survive that?”  
  
Harry snorted. “It’s what I do,” he smirked. “Boy Who Lived, remember? But enough about me. Have you decided you want to answer my questions?”  
  
William’s defiance was a little harder to rally this time, but rally it he did.

“Fuck you,” he whispered shakily, his eyes falling closed knowing what was about to happen. Harry shrugged and lowered the memory back into the man’s temple. His screams were weaker this time, but still unending.  
  
“Remus and Severus are getting on really well,” Harry mentioned brightly to Loraina, ignoring the noise. “I think it mostly has to do with how frazzled Severus is, but I’m still impressed.”

The two men glanced at each other as both their cheeks warmed.

“You know, I had some doubts at first, but I think I like your werewolf,” Loraina said, shifting closer to him to speak more easily over William’s shouts. “He’s far more cunning than he lets on. That threadbare uniform of his is misleading. He’s ruthless in his own way,” she reflected with a small smile, causing Remus to shift uncomfortably as if her praise chafed.

Severus couldn't disagree, though. Remus was undoubtedly disarming and very intentionally so; and like Loraina, Severus did not find this disagreeable.

“His Claiming you on the Full? Wasn’t necessary,” she said with a dismissive shake of her head. “Helpful perhaps. Unscrupulous, undoubtedly. And I suspect fun, as well. Very Slytherin,” she summarized approvingly.

“Severus, I swear,” Remus began, but the Potions Master waved him off. Remus didn’t have to defend himself. Severus already believed the man. Besides, he’d decided he didn’t actually care one way or the other. It had proved to be invaluable regardless of motivation. The two of them might not have found themselves where they were, otherwise, and Severus had finally accepted he liked where that was.

“The world isn’t divided by Houses, Loraina,” Harry pointed out. “I suppose we all have a bit of each of them in us.”  

“I simply mean he’s devious enough to appreciate Our Severus,” she explained. “And Our Severus,” she sighed, “is a lion in snake’s clothing, we know that already. Not that he isn’t excellent at playing the part.”

Severus lifted an eyebrow in affront, which Remus seemed to find endearing. The werewolf shrugged as if he concurred, and Severus glared at him.

“I’m almost surprised the two of them haven’t been to bed already,” she went on. “Remus is determined, I could tell that much from talking to him. It was one of the reasons I brought him more drink,” she chuckled. This wasn’t news to Severus, but it still made him blush. “He seemed at least as upset that you were with Severus as the other way around. He didn’t say so, but I could tell. He was so angry with you for mistreating Severus. And I know he thinks you hung the bloody moon, so he must be fond of Severus in the extreme to see any fault in you.”

This was news. Remus looked sheepish, but Severus was touched. So few people had ever spared a thought to the Potions Master’s well being.

“He’s nurturing,” Loraina reflected with a nod. “He’ll be good for Severus. Severus has always needed to be cared for, he’s just never accepted it.”

Severus wasn’t entirely certain he agreed with her assessment of him, but the two men were made unavoidably aware of each other, and they drifted back together then, both embarrassed but also somewhat gratified. Their fingers tangled shyly. Severus pretended to be too riveted by the others’ conversation to pay Remus much heed. The gaze he ignored fell hot on Severus’ face, warming his cheeks.

“But can they be together?” Harry asked. “Aren’t they toxic to one another?”

The question startled Severus. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to him before. They’d taken no precautions. Thankfully, it seemed to have been unnecessary, but their carelessness could have been catastrophic.

“These aren’t mundane Muggle afflictions, Harry,” Loraina explained, going into detail about their transmission.

Severus barely heard what she was saying. The talk of the two men being together seemed to have aroused Remus' imagination. He had released Severus' hand to meander somewhere behind him, and the anticipation of his imminent touch made it difficult for Severus to focus on the details of Harry and Loraina's conversation, especially as he knew more about the topic than Loraina did. 

“As for the boys being together,” Severus heard her say through the fuzz in his brain, “the prejudice is deep and the instinctual aversion is strong. I don’t think there have ever been a werewolf and a vampire in this situation where they might interact physically in a non-hostile way,” she mused.

Severus felt Remus shift closer to him as if in answer. He felt his nose nuzzle the back of Severus’ neck. The vampire didn’t reciprocate, but he did pull a ragged, contented sigh as Loraina continued to hypothesize.

“At least, that is my opinion,” she shrugged. “I could be wrong. Severus is the scientist. I kill werewolves, I’ve never been compelled to kiss one. Don’t look so shocked,” she said, waving off Harry’s scandalized expression. Remus, though, seemed too distracted by the taste of Severus’ shoulder to take offence at the comment. “I’ve killed my share of vampires, as well.”  
  
Harry frowned. “What? For sport?” he asked uncomfortably.  
  
Loraina shook her head and gave a small, joyless laugh. She so rarely spoke of her time away, and Severus knew he wanted to listen to what she was about to tell Harry, but it was exceedingly difficult to concentrate, as Remus had moved to his other shoulder, picking his collar to the side with gentle fingers.

“In Romania, the skirmishes over territory between the Vampires and the Lycanthropes is neverending. And I lived in the in between,” she told Harry. “Rejected by the Coven but tolerated at their borders. No doubt, this was because I helped with disposing of or scaring away a good number of their rivals. I was a nomadic ‘other’. No allegiances, no allies; only enemies.” 

She lost herself in memories for a moment, which Severus found fortuitous, as Remus had wrapped his arms around him from behind and slipped both his hands into the yawning front of Severus’ tattered shirt.

“Well, no official allies,” Loraina amended. “There were other outcasts from both sides that shared that limbo. I only ever befriended the vampires, though. If friends are what we could call ourselves. We learned from each other sometimes, of necessity, and we fought each other rarely because we knew each other’s secret weapons. I learned Animus Secretum, for example. I taught it to others as I taught it to you, though not as easily,” she said, her eyes going fondly to his still-fading scar.  
  
“What else did you learn?” Harry prompted when she stopped sharing. Severus rather wished they’d both stop talking for a moment, as Remus seemed to be counting Severus’ ribs. Over and over.  
  
“Few magical things,” she shrugged, hugging her knees. “Mostly practical ones, like how to live in the forest. How to ambush. How to confuse my scent. How to use knives,” she said, producing one from behind her back almost as if by magic. “How to use them in close quarters and at a distance,” she continued, twirling the point of the blade she held on her fingertip. “I enjoy knives. They are so versatile. I would teach you, but your knives are at the ends of your fingers and your skill is provided by instinct.”

“It sounds as if it was just as dangerous fleeing to Romania as staying here to hide from Voldemort would have been,” Harry pointed out. “ _More_ dangerous even.”

Finally, Severus raised a hand to Remus’ to still them. He’d often thought what Harry had just expressed, and he wanted to hear her answer. Remus peeked questioningly around Severus’ shoulder, and the vampire gave him an apologetic look, glancing to Harry and Loraina as in explanation. Remus nodded his understanding and kissed Severus’ shoulder once more before releasing him and taking a place at his side once again. The werewolf did not want any more to do with the scene, perhaps. He seemed to have been attempting to distract himself from pain the situation caused him. But Severus was keenly interested in what Loraina was sharing at the moment.

“Perhaps,” she admitted, suddenly melancholy, returning her knife to it invisible sheath. “But I couldn’t be here,” she said quietly. “Not for a long while. Severus was here,” she explained, sadness softening her ashen features. “It was easier to live there than to fight the temptation of his nearness.”  
  
Severus almost wished he hadn’t stopped Remus. Her simple confession made him ache. He reached for the werewolf, suddenly needing his support. Harry looked just as bereft.

“Was there no one else, Loraina?” Harry asked pityingly. “Could there have been no one else? People break up all the time. They move on. They find other lovers.”

Severus sadly shook his head, knowing her answer. He’d never sought to replace her, either. He’d thought, until he and Harry had finally woken to each other in his sixth year, that it would have been a waste of time. That any love he might have found would have been a sorry shadow of what he and Loraina had been to one another.

“Of course. The prospects rounded the block,” Loraina smirked. “I am not loveable, Harry. And I do not love easily. All you bleeding hearts,” she muttered as if cursing. “You treat it so loosely. You declare it so easily. I don’t know what it is you people label love, but it is not love as I understand it.”

Remus stirred at Severus' side and lifted the hand he held to his lips as if in refutation. Severus finally pulled his eyes to him.

Was _this_ love, he wondered? Did it qualify? Remus seemed convinced enough. It was confusing to the vampire. He respected the man. He was fond of him. He found his touch stimulating and his presence comforting. His pain caused Severus to ache in response, and the Potions Master hesitated to cause him distress in any intentional way. He found himself wanting to touch Remus, in ways physical and otherwise, in a manner that might please the werewolf. What more was there to it, really?

“Severus is like me, though,” Loraina said somewhere behind him as he contemplated the man. “When he says those words to you, he means them, and it is precious.”

Remus gazed at him as if hoping it would come to pass. His eyes were darkened and his pupils widened, though whether by arousal or by the lack of illumination in the hut, Severus couldn't tell. It had taken Severus four years to utter the phrase to Harry, though, and there had never been any question in his mind about whether it was true for the two of them. There was no way Severus could bring himself to let the words fall from his lips so carelessly now. He did draw closer to the werewolf, however, and he slipped his arms around his waist.

“You should appreciate it,” Loraina admonished Harry.  
  
“I do,” he said defensively.  
  
“And yet you lie with the Wolf.”

Remus’ cheeks coloured but Severus held him tighter. They all lay together, so what did it matter now?  
  
“It’s complicated,” Harry muttered.  
  
“Is it? Or do you just like to use that as an excuse? You cheapen the rarity of his affection by sharing yours with another.”

Severus turned his attention away from the man in his arms, too exasperated by Loraina's scolding to ignore it any longer. He might have agreed with her once, but it still wasn’t her place to chastise the young man. Harry was just as aggravated.

“You’ve been trying to get me to share it with you, as well,” he pointed out accusingly.  
  
“Oh. I’m not asking you to share,” she clarified. “I’m asking for all of you. Leave the others to each other,” she said, leaning closer to him. “I’m not in love with you, Harry, but I am exceedingly taken. We could be beautiful together. I could make you happy. Or well, I could at least keep you from being lonely. Or bored,” she added with a quirky smile. “If neither of us can have what we want, we can at least have each other.”

Severus had nearly had enough of her blatant attempts to steal his lover from him. He pulled away from Remus to glare at the woman. There was no reason Harry couldn’t have exactly what he wanted. Just because she was left out didn’t mean it was beyond Harry’s reach as well.  
  
Harry seemed to sympathise with her but not to agree, to Severus’ relief. He avoided answering her hopeful expression by turning his attention back to their prisoner. Severus had forgotten he was there, as had Harry it seemed. William’s moans had almost spent themselves and were easily ignored with all else that was happening. Severus felt strange and a bit soiled, having been contemplating love and being petted while a man lay dying at their feet. Perhaps they were all damned beyond redemption. But if so, it was this bastard’s fault they had been so tested in the first place to be found lacking, and so Severus could not spare much pity for him. Harry lifted the memory to speak to the man once more.  
  
“Just answer my questions,” Harry sighed when he finally surfaced. William trembled, no longer quite so hateful.  
  
“What does it matter?” he croaked, his voice almost entirely shot. When he coughed, it was flecked with blood. “They’ll see you coming. You ain’t getting to them. Not without me,” he added as though he thought he might still manage to find his way out of this situation alive.      
  
“We won’t be without you,” Loraina said mysteriously. Severus threw her a curious look, wondering what she had up her sleeve.    
  
“Tell me why that is, and maybe we can talk,” Harry offered, but they both knew Harry had no intentions of sparing him. This banter was simply delaying the inevitable.  
  
“Listen,” William said with a touch of desperation. “She’s as mad as you are and twice as cunning. Maybe even as cruel.”  
  
“She?” Harry asked, surprised. He and Loraina shared an intrigued look which Remus and Severus mirrored. William sneered weakly.  
  
“Aye. _She_ ,” he confirmed, his speech laboured. “Would like to mount your Mixer’s swizzle stick on her fuckin’ wall, she would.”

“Severus?” Remus asked. “Do you have any idea who he’s referring to?”

Severus shook his head, at a loss. “I trespassed against so many in the Dark Lord’s service,” he sighed miserably. “It could be almost anyone.”

He couldn’t recall directly offending a woman. Well, not to the extent that she’d go to such lengths to cause him harm. The only woman who came to mind was Loraina. Still, that they would attack Harry to hurt him both sickened and infuriated Severus. The young man might not blame him, but Severus was finding ever more reason to blame himself, despite how Remus had tried to convince him otherwise. Severus couldn’t help wondering how much happier Harry’s life would have been if Severus had simply never been born.

“This ain’t about you, mate,” William told Harry. “Never was. Well, was for me. And her backer might feel differently. But for the Boss, it was all about forcing him to watch you suffer.” He had to rest and catch his breath before continuing, and Severus and Remus looked at each other, contemplating this new information.

“Backer?” the werewolf mouthed. Severus shook his head, just as perplexed, and turned back to the criminal, hanging on his every word.

“Personally, I thought it was daft to think that creepy old arsehole cared about anyone enough to make the whole thing worth it. Least of all about you,” William sneered. “One of my boys was at Hogwarts with you ‘fore he dropped out, said you and the slimy git right detested each other. I didn’t care, really. I just wanted to fuck you up,” he said carefully, glaring at Harry. Severus felt his fangs peek again. He was torn between wanting to hear what the man had to say and wishing he’d hurry up and fucking die already. “Didn’t give a shite why. Looks like I managed it, too,” he smirked. “How long did you burn for, you little prick?” he asked, giving Harry a smug look.

Remus almost had to hold Severus back from launching himself at the arsehole, despite that he knew it would do no good. Though, the werewolf looked plenty murderous himself.

“Bleeding to death is too good for this bastard,” Remus muttered, surprising the vampire. He’d come a long way from hiding his face in despair on Severus’ shoulder. In light of the circumstances, Harry’s actions seemed increasingly justified. It was just a pity the man had driven him to them.

“You’re about to find out,” Harry answered him in a low, dark voice. Panic ignited in William’s eyes as the memory drifted toward him once again. Maybe he thought he’d incite Harry to kill him but, if so, he miscalculated. Severus, for one, felt not a single shred of sympathy as the memory descended toward the man once more.

“Loraina, petrify him, I’m tired of hearing him scream,” Harry commanded calmly.  
  
“No, wait!” William gasped, but then suddenly he was frozen, petrified and gripped by the pain he’d inflicted on Harry. The young man pulled the stool over to prop his wand in place, freeing him to move about while letting the memory play indefinitely. Harry fell back onto the dirt floor then, seemingly exhausted, and Loraina stretched out beside him and lay a hand on his chest. Harry ignored it, but it still made Severus grumble the way she fondled the wrinkles of his shirt. It was an absent gesture, though. 

“I think I know something that might refresh us,” she proposed. “I told you I had a memory for you.”

Severus cringed. She was going to drive the young man to madness at this rate. Remus, now understanding the danger firsthand, looked concerned, as well. Harry didn’t answer. He was lost in thought, idly playing with the fingers she rested on his chest. Severus scowled at that. She was nothing if not persistent. If Harry did not keep his guard up, she’d break him eventually. Clearly, it had already begun.

“What did you do with Timothy?” Harry asked distractedly after a moment.

“I think you know what I did with Timothy.”  
  
Harry furrowed his brow at her. “Why did you try to stop me when you thought I was about to kill him, then?”  
  
“I thought you weren’t ready,” she shrugged. “I thought it would sit on your conscience and make you question yourself. I thought it might turn you from our path. Besides, you were tortured enough already, Lovely,” she explained simply. "Better the deed fell to me."  
  
“And now?” he asked.  
  
She gave him a slippery smile. “Now I think you are ready for anything,” she said breathily, catching his nipple through the fabric of his shirt with her fingernail. Severus felt a growl bubble from him, but Harry sighed in exasperation and removed his hand from hers, making the vampire feel marginally better.  
  
“You said you had a memory?” he asked as if trying to distract her.  
  
She grinned and sat up. “Do you want it?” she asked, suddenly excited.  
  
Harry eyed her distrustfully. “What is it?”  
  
“You showed me the loss of your virginity. I had thought of returning the favor, but that event was wholly unremarkable, to be quite honest. Then it occurred to me you might like to see Severus lose his.”

All the blood drained from Severus’ face and he gasped. The night had been full of shocks, but this one eclipsed them all.


	48. Alas, the Tender Boy, in Passion Moved

**Now: Remus**

“You showed me the loss of your virginity. I had thought of returning the favor, but that event was wholly unremarkable, to be quite honest. Then it occurred to me you might like to see Severus lose his.”

The man beside him gasped.

“No. No, she wouldn’t,” Severus muttered in horror. All the blood had left his face. He was paler than Remus thought a person could be, and he was shaking.

Remus’ brow furrowed in confusion and concern. Of course, it was a personal moment, but this reaction went well beyond offence at the violation of one’s privacy. Severus looked absolutely terrified, backing toward the wall of the hut, shaking his head. Remus tried to comfort him, but Severus did not acknowledge him at all. Remus might as well not have even existed.  

Harry seemed to disapprove of the suggestion, but he was undoubtedly tempted, and Rainey pressed her advantage.

“Leave it to me, Lovely,” she purred with a slow smile, lifting her wand. “This is one of my very favorites.”

Severus seemed stunned by the comment and grimaced at the women in disgust, but when he saw the memory emerge from her temple, he panicked, rushing to grab Remus’ sleeve and pull them from the Pensieve. Remus resisted.

“Severus! He left it for a reason,” he argued, trying to be gentle as the man was obviously and exceptionally troubled, but nonetheless attempting to carefully pry Severus’ trembling fingers from the fabric of his damaged dressing gown.

Severus looked lost. He refused to relinquish Remus’ sleeve but no longer tried to expel them from the memory.

“No. It’s a mistake,” the man insisted shakily, unable to tear his eyes from the memory that dangled from Rainey’s wand as she waited for Harry to stretch out on the floor to receive it. “It...It’s an accident that he included it. It _couldn’t_ matter,” he said.

He seemed on the verge of some breakdown and his rising hysteria was contagious. Remus could feel himself shaking in sympathy. He couldn’t imagine what this memory could possibly contain that could so harrow the man. Severus Snape did not shake easily, especially when it did not involve Harry directly. This was a man who lied to the face of the most dangerous Wizard in history for years without so much as batting an eye.  

“ _Severus_ ,” Remus said, trying to distract him from the scene in front of them. When he was unsuccessful, Remus lifted a hand to gently turn the man’s face and force him to meet his eye. The breathless pain he saw in Severus’ expression cut Remus to the heart, and he battled his own sudden panic as he tenderly stroked his thumb across Severus’ cheek to sooth it.

“Whatever it is, it is okay. It’s past and gone. I’m here with you now, my dear,” he promised, bringing his other hand to the vampire’s face so that he cradled it, even as the scenery around them swirled and changed. “You’re safe.”

Severus shook his head, whether in denial of Remus’ assertion or of the situation, the werewolf wasn’t certain. But by then, they were already in Rainey’s memory.

It was still nighttime, but now they stood just outside the Castle. A young Rainey was leading an equally young Severus through the arches and out onto the grounds. The boy’s older counterpart refused to even look at the smiling couple, turning away, still clinging to Remus’ sleeve as if it were a lifeline. Remus, however, was captivated despite his companion’s distress. He wrapped an arm around the man and pulled him protectively closer but watched his younger version with fascinated affection.

The two lovers seemed so carefree and so obviously smitten with each other. It was endearing in the extreme, even though Remus was exceedingly put out by the woman this girl would eventually become. Remus knew Severus was no stranger to trauma even as a child, but he was still new enough here that it did not seem irreparable yet. In fact, the young woman who smilingly crooked a finger to summon him after her seemed to make his worries fall away from him. Remus had never seen him so untroubled as he was when he looked at her. Whenever he thought of Severus from their school days, Remus’ memory offered up images of a furtive and distrustful loner like the one Rainey had encountered under the tree by the lake, not this beaming puppy dog of a boy.

“Everyone else goes to the Astronomy Tower,” the young man pointed out, flustered but in a smiling sort of way.

“Exactly. _Everyone_ goes to the Astronomy Tower. I want more privacy than that,” Rainey said, towing him by the hand along behind her.

Again, Remus was struck by how different she was then, too. He had not been overly familiar with her before. He had simply been aware of her reputation. Primarily, that she had one, though the assertion that she was loose with her charms was overheard most often from boys who were frustrated by her rejection of their advances. Remus was never one to put too much stock in gossip, but she was also the girl who had outed Karen Thomas their fourth year after finding her in a compromising situation with a popular Hufflepuff girl. Remus recalled comforting Karen once after most of the rest of the Tower began treating her as a pariah because of it. She didn’t return to Hogwarts the next year, and that had made Remus sad.    

The girl he watched now seemed too buoyant to be capable of such casual cruelty, and surely Severus would not have been able to look at her so tenderly if she were as monstrous as Remus had suspected then.

“But...outside the Castle?” the boy whispered anxiously to her.  
  
“What? Don’t you like Quidditch?” she giggled, turning to skip backwards across the grass, pulling him with two hands so she could watch his face as she teased him. The sound of her mirth seemed to finally break through the disquiet of the Severus in Remus’ arms, and he looked over wistfully as the couple passed the two men.

“They’re moving out of sight,” Remus pointed out gently as the two threatened to disappear over a nearby rise.

“I know where we’re going,” Severus answered quietly, looking at the spot where they had finally vanished. He stepped away from Remus to eventually drift after them, looking as if he were on his way to his own hanging.

By the time they caught up with the couple under the darkened stands of the Quidditch pitch, the young lovers are already naked and embracing atop a bed of discarded robes. Remus blushed. He had been so distracted by Severus’ distress before, he’d almost forgotten what Cobs had told Harry the memory contained. While Remus was suddenly embarrassed, Severus simply observed the scene with a kind of forlorn nostalgia. He quickly scanned the shadows with a narrowed eye, but when he failed to spot what he searched for, his gaze softened again. He walked over to the youngsters, crouching to examine Rainey’s face as she rose away from his younger self, drawing her knees up to straddle him.

After a moment’s deliberation, Remus joined him, though he stood a respectful distance away. The girl’s expression seemed to be the only detail of interest to Severus. He did not even glance at himself. He paid no notice to how their bodies touched. He looked only at Rainey’s bright and loving gaze as she looked down and whispered, “This is for you, Severus,” stroking his chest. “Don’t worry about pleasing me. There is no way I could not enjoy this. I only want you to concentrate on how you feel. Let me give you this gift, Severus,” she pleaded. It was a beautiful moment, somehow made even moreso by the young man’s inexperience.

No. It was her patience that was lovely, and the care she took in making sure the experience was just right. Remus was no longer embarrassed and was simply moved. The newness for boy, their tenderness toward each other; it transcended erotic. Even as a spectator, it was practically spiritual, and Remus could understand why Rainey would tell Harry this memory was one of her favorites. What a rare, wonderful first it was, and how it made him want to continue what he and Severus had begun earlier.

“I’m so sorry,” the boy whispered shakily when they were done. They were still tangled and close and trembling. She reached up to brush the sweat-soaked strands from his face.

“Whatever for?” she asked through a breathless grin.  
  
“I should not have...inside of you,” he mumbled, blushing.  
  
“Oh, I have all I need to take care of that, My Love. Feels better this way besides,” she said, shrugging off his concern.  
  
He gave her an odd look. “You love me?” he asked, gazing down at her with both hope and skepticism.

Remus’ heart skipped a beat, and he looked to his companion. So there was more than one first here. Both Severuses seemed to hold their breath while the girl considered her answer.

“I do,” she said as if pleasantly surprised. “I love you, Severus,” she repeated more confidently. Her smile was radiant. “Do you love me?” she asked coquettishly.  
  
The young man did not hesitate in his answer, and his older self whispered it with him.

“Of course, I love you,” they told the girl in unison. Remus was overwhelmingly moved by the expression on Severus’ face--both of them--but the picturesque moment was disturbed when something stirred in the nearby shadows. 

“Severus,” Remus whispered in warning. Whatever the man had searched for before, whatever it was he dreaded, seemed to have arrived.

Severus had been completely immersed in the memory, and he woke to his surroundings with a start, looking up at Remus as if he’d forgotten he was there. Then he noticed Remus’ line of sight and his previous panic returned. He glanced at the trio of boys coming their way with broomsticks slung across their shoulders and then back to the two lovers with a wretched expression.  

“End it, Loraina,” he begged the girl beside him who was still smiling beatifically at his younger self, “ _Please_.” He closed his eyes. “Take it out of him, dammit! Take us back. Don’t let Harry see this,” he shouted angrily, beating the ground with his fist.

Remus was gripped by a cold dread as he watched Stanley Perkins stroll closer to the couple cuddling contentedly on the ground, closer to the man going to pieces beside them. He felt he should go to Severus’ aid, but his fear paralyzed him for a moment as he imagined what must certainly have happened next to make the man so terrified of this particular memory; one that had been so very sweet until this moment. Stanley had always been an intolerable prick. Remus had not been overly upset when they’d found him floating in the Lake during their Sixth Year. Now he regretted sparing the boy any measure of compassion at all.  

“Well, what have we here?” smirked Perkins.

Rainey’s eyes flew open and she scrambled for her robes as the elder Severus hovered helplessly at her side as if overcome by the desire to assist her but knowing he was unable to alter anything. He seemed to refuse to look at anything but the wand Rainey strained to reach, but when Stanley’s boot descended on her wrist, Severus fell away, momentarily shrinking from the sneering boy that towered over them before his rage surpassed his fear and Severus launched himself at him with a growl.

Remus’ own fear finally released him, and he sprang forward to restrain the man, but he was far too slow. Severus struck out with clawed hands and bared fangs, but he passed through the boy as if he were mist. Severus immediately turned. Before he could continue the attempted assault, however, the memory shifted and they were once again in Rainey’s hut. Remus caught Severus before he could collapse to the ground, trembling with impotent fury, tears already streaming down his cheeks.

Remus tried to hold him fast, though he feared he was too weak to be effective. Severus would not be quieted. It was then that Remus realized something was still fueling the man’s anger. Remus turned and was slightly horrified by what he saw.

Harry lay on the floor, reeling from the removed memory, and Rainey was taking full advantage of his disorientation. Her blouse was already open and she pressed one of Harry’s hands to her breast while the other made short work of the buttons of his shirt.

“Loraina!” Harry gasped, weakly pushing at her thigh as if he might brush it off.  
  
“I saw your reaction to our memory,” she said, glancing down at his crotch. “It seems a shame to waste it, Lovely.”

As she peeled back his shirt, Harry came to himself enough to attempt to restrain her, and Severus relaxed slightly in Remus’ arms. They watched Harry circle her wrists with his fingers, but he seemed to be too weak, either of will or physical strength, to prevent her from devouring his chest and stomach with her palms. He opened his mouth with an angry scowl, but all that escaped his lips was a moan. Severus opened his own mouth to hiss at the woman, his eyes still washed black and his fangs still extended from his attempt to murder a long dead boy.

“Don’t fight it, Harry,” she whispered breathily, bringing her mouth close to his. He turned his head away, his eyes squeezed shut. She chuckled at him. “Oh, Harry, why this resistance? You have to let the beast out in order to tame it.”

One of her hands, still tightly ringed with Harry’s own, traveled its way down his stomach until she cupped him through his pants.

“You know where this ends, Harry. You know where our adventure takes us. Say your goodbyes. Let me fill the void. Trust me. I can fill it and more.”

“Loraina, enough!” Harry barked, still wrestling with her, though it was difficult to tell if he was gaining any ground.

“Thought you might like to get used to it, since it will be all you have after-”  
  
“ _What happened?_ ” Harry asked urgently, finally gaining proper control of her wrists and holding her hands away from him. She stopped trying to force herself on him and gave him an apprehensive look.

“Someone stepped on my hand,” Harry rushed to explain, but he shook his head in frustration and corrected himself. “I mean, on _your_ hand. Someone you feared.”

Severus went rigid in his Remus’ arms, and the werewolf watched as his pupils shrank, the angry blush in his cheeks fading to stark white. Rainey froze and stared at Harry, then she jerked herself from his grasp and fell away, scrambling backward until she upset the stool, sending Harry’s wand with its tethered memory rolling to the floor. Severus, no longer wrathful, moved to rush to her side, and Remus released him to allow it, confused by how quickly his attitude toward the woman had shifted.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” Rainey said in a fierce whisper, drawing her knees to her chest. She looked stricken and distracted, and Severus, kneeling beside her, seemed to ache on her behalf. He reached out to comfort her, but his hand passed through her, and so he simply sat back on his feet and hugged himself, apologizing to her with his eyes.

Harry rolled to his knees and reached for her cautiously, as one might approach a scared and wounded animal. Whatever offense he felt at her attempted assault seemed to be overshadowed by his sympathy.

“You were frightened. Loraina, why were you frightened? What happened next?” he whispered, seeming already to know her answer and to fear it but unable to stop himself from asking.  
  
She looked at him as if she didn’t really see him, as if she were seeing, instead, the experience she’d just ripped away from him. Slowly, she woke and looked up at him timidly.

“The Worst Thing,” she whispered the way a child whispers a terrible secret, and Severus’ anguished expression crumpled in on itself.

Harry took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to take in their surroundings. He looked over at the dead man on the floor beside the woman which she seemed to take no note of, then he crawled over and reclaimed his wand and his own memory, returning it where it belonged. Harry seated himself carefully beside Rainey. She was still hugging her knees, her face hidden behind them so only her wild eyes peeked over the tops.  
  
“May I see it?” Harry asked softly.

Severus’ eyes flew open at the request, and he grimaced at the young man, shaking his head. Rainey’s expression was unreadable. After a long moment, she shuddered.

“You don’t want to, Lovely,” she assured him. “I wish I could scrub it from my memory. Why would you want it in yours?” She shook her head. “Truthfully, if giving it to you took it from me, I would. But it doesn’t work that way,” she said softly, as if with regret.  
  
“Please?”  
  
“Why are you so eager to see our pain? Our disgrace?” she hissed angrily. Severus closed his eyes and bowed his head, laying his hands on the ground beside her in lieu of touching her. Harry tried to lay a hand on her arm but she shifted away from his touch.

“I only want to understand,” he whispered. “ _Both_ of you.”

Rainey regarded him distrustfully, but then she softened under his persistently sympathetic gaze. She gave him a scrutinizing look.

“It was the end, you know,” she said quietly but hurriedly, as if the confession was involuntary. “So soon after we truly began, that was the end. The start of it. It planted in us the things that ultimately defeated us.”

Severus didn’t move except to tremble, but Remus spied a tear drip from the tip of his nose onto the dirt floor. It broke his heart. The werewolf was shaking himself. He felt faint. He needed to sit down, but there was nowhere for it. He considered seating himself by Severus, but he wasn’t certain his contact would be welcomed at the moment.

Besides, Remus was overwhelmed. He was slowly coming to understand that the event in question had been supremely monumental to the both of them. It had seeded her madness and his bitterness, had affected everything in their life that followed and set them on the course that led them to their fall, allowed them to become capable of taking the Mark.

Rainey looked up and stared at Harry for a long while, her expression completely blank. She turned to him finally, neither of them paying any mind to her still-bare chest which was no longer hidden by her knees, and lay a hand on his cheek.

“It is one thing to know such horrors occurred,” she said softly, “but you won’t understand without living it, Lovely. You won’t understand him. Or me. And if you don’t understand, perhaps you cannot appreciate us and what needs to be done, or why.”

Severus looked up at her disbelievingly.    
  
“Then enlighten me,” Harry said softly. He looked terrified but determined.

Severus backed away from them to rise to his feet, distancing himself from what was about to happen. Remus took a step in his direction but vacillated, finding it difficult to split his attention between Severus and Harry.

“You would inflict this wound on yourself willingly and intentionally?” she asked the young man. Harry wavered but only for a moment. He swallowed nervously, then looked back up at her and nodded.

“No!” Severus cried, even as Rainey sighed, “Very well.”

Harry stretched back out on the floor and prepared himself as Severus fell apart. Remus finally closed the distance, but Severus would not be touched. Remus understood, and he hovered, ready for when he was needed.

Severus backed away from the pair in horror until he hit the wall of the hut. “How dare you?” he asked Rainey breathlessly. His incredulity shifted to affront, then to frothing anger.

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT?” he bellowed, red in the face. “You traitorous, conniving, covetous, mad bitch!” he spat, stomping toward her once more.

Remus intercepted him, as much to prevent him from hurting himself as anything. It wasn’t as if the woman he charged would come to any harm. Severus finally seemed to remember the man was there. He hadn’t spared a glance to Remus since they were returned to the hut. Severus cast a horrified look to the memory that dangled from the tip of Rainey’s wand then back at Remus. Without a word, he seized the werewolf by the lapels of his robe and expelled them violently from the Pensieve.

It had been so sudden, Remus had had no opportunity to prevent it, and he found himself unexpectedly sprawled on the floor of Minerva’s office. As he was still struggling to regain his bearings, Severus scrambled to his feet and rushed to the Pensieve, snatching up the empty flask that sat beside it. Frantic, he attempted to scoop the memories from the basin with his hand, but they merely poured through his fingers. He tried over and over, becoming increasingly frustrated, until Remus staggered to his feet and took hold of his arm.

“ _Severus_ , enough!”

“Give me my wand,” the man demanded, a dangerous glint in his eye. Remus had forgotten he had them both since reclaiming his from Severus before. He shook his head and stepped away. “Give me my fucking wand _now_ , Remus,” he hissed, reaching for Remus’ pocket where it was stowed.  

“Severus, I understand why you’re upset, and I know you feel betrayed,” he argued quietly so as not to wake their unwitting host while veritably wrestling with the man still attempting to seize his wand. “But Harry is out there somewhere. That traitorous, conniving, covetous, mad bitch--as you put it--has dragged him away from us to face ‘The Boss’ and whatever other lowlife they meet in between.”

Severus stopped struggling to pickpocket the man. Remus knew reminding him of Harry would snap him back to the crisis at hand. The man was still desperate, though.

“If there’s even the slightest chance there’s something of importance to see, Severus…”

Remus gave him an imploring look, and the man glared at Remus long and hard before his expression finally deflated and he sank to his knees in defeat. Remus knelt beside him and tried to embrace him, but Severus pushed him gently away. He suddenly could not meet the werewolf’s eye.

“You’ll have to go alone,” he told him in a tiny, tremulous voice. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough.”

Remus understood. He took the man’s wand from his pocket and returned it to him, and Severus took it absently, no longer concerned with having it. Remus started to rise to his feet, but Severus snagged his tattered sleeve, halting him.

“When you see it, please…”

“Please what, Dear?” Remus said patiently, laying his hand over the one clutching his dressing gown.

“Don’t judge me too harshly,” he begged. Remus gave him a sympathetic look.

“It won’t change a thing, My Dear Severus,” he promised. At this point, he couldn’t imagine anything that might injure his feelings for the man. Not after being him. Not after sharing in his and Harry’s ordeal and feeling his heart and hearing his thoughts.

Severus smirked. “It changed everything,” he said darkly. “But I didn’t mean that. I know it has never been a sufficient excuse for what I put Harry through, but I used it as one.” He lifted his eyes to the werewolf imploringly, “Don’t think too badly of me after, if you can.”

Remus was confused. He thought he knew what he was about to walk into, and seeing Rainey assaulted could not have been easy for Severus, but he couldn’t understand what it had to do with Harry. Nevertheless, he nodded.

Severus sighed and released him, turning away as if unable to even watch Remus return to the Pensieve. Remus didn’t do so immediately. He had to take a moment to prepare himself. He knew this would be difficult. If he had a way to fast forward the memory and skip this part, he would. But as far as they knew, there was no way past it, only through, and he felt certain there was something on the other side of it they would need to know to find Harry. He took a deep breath, and then he raised his wand and dove back in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter art by **[EspadaIV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=espadaiv)**
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
>   
> 


	49. Now to the Bottom Dost Thou Search My Wound

**Now: Severus**

Tumbling. Falling. Rending. Crashing. Fragmenting. Crumbling.

There were so many words for what was happening to and inside of Severus, and none of them was remotely sufficient to describe the scope and magnitude of it. Years spent constructing layer upon layer of walls to insulate himself from the event were shown to be in vain. They all disintegrated.

They had been showing cracks for a while now. The Dark had threatened their integrity far more than anything had in ages. Severus should have shored them up afterward, but he hadn’t had an opportunity. Harry’s Madness had distracted him, during and after. He hadn’t expected to be tested again so soon, so blatantly. He’d had no time to prepare himself against this onslaught as he had had before he’d carried Harry to the lab to wait out the Dark of the Moon, knowing what would happen in its shadows. 

He felt helpless and naked. The rags he wore did not help the sense, but even his trusted robes would not have shielded him from this. He wouldn’t have been able to feel them, regardless. In his mind, Severus was disrobed entirely, clawing at dirt. He had no sense of the world around him. Not of the threadbare rug over cold stone that bruised his knees or the chill morning breeze through the ever brightening window.

This was much more than a reminder or an allusion. The thing itself had materialised as if from his very nightmares. It was real and tangible, floating with deceptive innocuity in the basin beside him. He didn’t have to view it to see it. And see it he did, quite involuntarily, as he was too exhausted to muster a defence so unexpectedly.

The quiet of the room left a vacuum which his memory filled. It built to a cacophony. It was as if every moment of the ordeal was playing at once and endlessly. Every sensation and emotion blared in unison, giving voice to his demons, drowning out even thought. His mind and body screamed, though his lips were still and his throat silent. Pressing his hands to his ears did not block it out. Scrunching shut his eyes did not shutter them to the evil that played rapid-fire and unbidden like the vilest and most graphic of horror films in the theater of his memory.

 _Harry has watched this,_ he thought. The shame of that knowledge crept up as if from the stones at his knees to coat him in grasping filth as black and tenacious as tar.

Remus was watching it now. Severus shuddered.

_Get him._

At this moment, Remus was watching them lay hands on the boy he was. Severus felt their fingers bite, and he rubbed his arms to soothe the sting, though it went to his very bones.  

_This is why you turned me down? For this?_

The years that Loraina and Harry had spent since to dislodge the disgust he’d felt for himself then seemed undone in an instant; the single sneering critique of a rapist somehow bearing more weight in his subconscious than the thousands of praises whispered by lovers.

_What are you going to do about it, you bony little faggot?_

He’d had _decades_ to dismantle the associations in his mind, but even years of carnal bliss with a very male lover had not succeeded in neutralising the accusation. Years of visiting obvious pleasure on Harry had not allowed him to venture those same activities himself. All because their abusers had called him a faggot. All because they’d cemented in his sensory memory the horrible pain of uninvited penetration.

_Make him kiss it._

Severus shook his head, but the voices would not be quiet.

_I’ll make him do more than that._

He felt just as helpless as he had then, just as powerless to prevent what was to come.

_Make it fit, you tosser._

It was as if he was tearing apart all over again. The memory of it clung to him like the blood and mud had then, only now he felt the sticky grit on every inch of him, a grime that would never wash away. He felt a cry rise in him, a bellow of rage and despair and resentment. But before it could escape, there was a noise behind him.

The sound of Remus hitting the floor fortunately broke the spell, shattered the bonds that shackled him to the flashback, and allowed Severus to struggle loose of the thing if not entirely free of it. Severus’ eyes flew open and he gasped his relief, but it was short-lived.

He turned in time to watch Remus scramble back away from the Pensieve as if the thing chased him, his eyes impossibly wide, his mouth twisted in a grimace; and Severus’ shame was reinforced. The werewolf stumbled to his feet and glared at the gently glowing basin in horror, then he immediately turned to the window at his back, rushing forward to throw his head out of it to be sick down the side of the Castle. Severus turned away from the sight and hugged himself as the man continued to heave as if attempting to purge himself of the filth he’d just witnessed.

Severus wished the stones would swallow him. He wished he had Harry’s cloak. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to know how Remus would look at him now, if he’d regard him with the same disgust he’d just blasted toward the Pensieve. Severus mourned already the loss of the tenderness he’d seen in the man’s expression before. There might be pity there now but certainly no longer love. He wished he’d never seen it to begin with. He hated that he’d allowed himself to feel it in return, especially now that it was surely going to be unrequited.

Severus heard Remus stagger away from the window. He heard the man approach, but he refused to look at him. _Why couldn’t Severus disappear?_

It was Remus’ sob that made him turn and the sound of the werewolf’s knees striking stone at Severus’ side, but he kept his eyes on the floor. Remus knelt beside him. He reached for the vampire but didn’t touch him. It was as if he couldn’t bring himself, as if he didn’t want to be contaminated. Severus rubbed his arms. He tried to tell them to be content with themselves as Remus’ would no longer be providing the contact they craved.

“Oh, Severus,” the werewolf gasped. It was shuddering. “May I?”

Severus was surprised by the question. Finally, he looked at the man. At his face. Into his eyes. Miraculously, he did not find disgust there. Neither was there pity. There was only compassion. A sea of it. It inundated the vampire, and he scowled at Remus, confused. Severus looked at the man's hovering arms again and realised Remus was not repulsed. He was asking permission.

Severus had been too shellshocked to weep, but he felt his eyes fill now. He realised he’d been holding his breath, and he gasped for air as if surfacing after near drowning. He couldn’t answer the werewolf, though. He couldn’t reach for him. He was afraid that if he stopped hugging himself he might fall apart completely. Remus closed the distance between them slowly, giving Severus every opportunity to push him away. Severus willed him closer. It seemed his arms would never descend, but then they did, and Severus was so grateful for it.

Remus embraced him fiercely, kissing the top of his head over and over. It was a uniquely Remus gesture and surprisingly comforting, but the werewolf didn’t seem to feel he was holding him close enough, and Severus found himself gathered properly, pulled into the man’s lap like a child with a skinned knee to be rocked as they both cried.

“I’ve got you,” Remus whispered. “It’s alright, my sweet Severus, I’ve got you now.”

Severus had so rarely been held this way. He’d so rarely felt protected, or that he needed to be, and he’d never really allowed such a thing from himself or others. Remus’s arms made him feel safe, though. He was unable to deny his weakness at the moment. He was unable to reject Remus’ strength. Before that night, he’d never trusted his burdens to the keeping of another, and it was so freeing to really set them aside finally. He’d let Remus hold them, just for a little while. For the first time in his life, Severus realised just how tired he truly was.

He closed his eyes and relaxed into Remus’ embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” the werewolf sobbed, pressing his forehead to Severus’. “ _I’m so sorry_.”

Severus didn’t know why the comment was so gratifying. No one had ever apologised to him for what had happened before. No one had ever known except Loraina, and she had been just as wounded. It didn’t make him okay. It didn’t erase his scars. But it made his walls seem less necessary. Instead of Severus spending so much effort propping them up, there was someone bracing _him_ , letting him face the thing in their absence. It was less frightening knowing he wasn’t facing it alone. The foe might never be vanquished, but at least someone was fighting it at his side.

Severus finally released himself and twisted to hold Remus instead.

 


	50. And Will Revolt from Me to Succor Him

**Now: Remus**

He landed hard on the floor of Minerva’s office, but though he’d escaped the Pensieve, Remus wasn’t free of it. Severus’ cries of pain and Rainey’s banshee wail followed him, reverberating around the gaping hollow the scene had carved from Remus’ heart. He stumbled to his feet and glared at the gently glowing basin in horror, not seeing it. What he saw instead, in flashes like random frames of film, were hands where they shouldn’t be, lovers sundered, tears on cheeks, the grotesque smiles of those who find glee in the suffering of others. Remus saw malice. And pain. And blood.

There was no doubt in his mind that he’d just witnessed murder. Who those two children had been died that night. Remus had watched what was vital and pure and essential in each of them sputter and extinguish like a flame deprived of oxygen, smothered by violence and cruelty. The light in their eyes when they had looked at each other just moments before was gone forever, and Remus recognized the haunted look that was left in its absence. They both wore it still.

He’d supposed that life on the run was responsible for Rainey’s, that the atrocities Severus had seen in Voldemort’s service had caused his. But he realized now their demons had been born much, much earlier. He could only suppose what had happened to Rainey afterwards. All he had seen was Stanley toss her to the ground and fall on her like a hyena on a stolen kill. But it had not been her rape that had ended her, it had been watching Severus’, and their bizarre relationship abruptly made perfect sense.

Remus was finally going to be sick. He turned to the window at his back and rushed to throw his head out of it. He could not stop seeing the terror in Severus’ eyes when he realized what was about to happen, or the look he’d shared with Rainey then. He could not stop seeing his own hands pass through the bastards like smoke, over and over until they lost all recognizable form, as he’d attempted to tear them away from Severus. He was still trembling with the rage and frustration that he had not been able to stop them, though he’d tried. _He’d tried_. Had tried to rend the villains limb from limb while Rainey gave voice to the screaming of his soul.

He had to get a hold of himself. Severus had been alone this whole while, had been hurting and Remus hadn’t been there to hold him. But the sound of his retching too resembled the desperate raking of nails on packed dirt, which caused Remus to retch again. Finally, Remus’ stomach accepted that it could not be emptied further, and he staggered away from the window to see to the man the boy he’d just seen torn apart had become.

So many things suddenly made sense to Remus now. So much of who Severus was and why he did and said and thought what he did was illuminated. It was no wonder Harry had emerged from the forest that evening and thrown himself at the man’s feet, swearing to sacrifice anything for the man’s happiness, even Remus. What Remus himself wouldn’t give now to try and make right, in any way he could, the wrongs Severus had endured.

Severus was still that broken boy, no matter what he’d lived through since or how well he’d learned to carry himself, to pretend otherwise. The way he trembled now, holding himself, his face turned away in shame, was exactly the young man Remus had just seen in the Pensieve. Though, the only shame to be found in what had happened to him belonged to the vile monsters who’d assaulted them.

Remus understood his withdrawal, the way he seemed to try to disappear. Severus felt sullied. Ruined. That’s why Remus had such difficulty convincing him of his inherent worth before. It was why he had sacrificed himself for the Order for so many years, why he gave so much of himself to Harry. It was why he felt, beyond all reason, that he deserved the ills that had befallen him, despite that he’d atoned for his mistakes several times over. Though he had not been injured as badly as Severus, or as violently, Remus had felt a shadow of that shame himself as a boy. Enough of it, at any rate, to know what Severus was feeling now and why he’d yet to heal.

Remus wanted to launch himself at Severus and snatch him up and squeeze his hurt out of him; to not let him go until he understood, really understood, that he was not what had happened to him, that no matter his features or his flaws, he was beautiful and perfect and loved. _And loved_. But it wasn’t something one could force on another, and too much had been forced on the man already.

Remus fell to his knees at Severus’ side and held his arms open in invitation, though Severus would not look at him.

“Oh, Severus,” he begged, “May I?”

The man looked up at him in surprise as if he couldn’t believe Remus would still want to touch him after what he’d seen, and it added yet another band to Remus’ already bursting heart. Remus could see Severus’ incredulity, could see him questioning Remus’ motives, because he had so internalized the cruel words of his attackers that it was easier for him to conceive of insincerity on Remus’ part than to accept, not only that Remus offered it genuinely, but that Severus was truly worthy of the man’s compassion. His expression cut Remus to the quick. But it was not Severus’ suspicion that wounded, it was the inspiration for it. If the bastards in question hadn’t all died decades ago, Remus would have tracked them down, as he had Kreacher, but he would not rue the results in the morning.

Severus stared at Remus’ hovering arms and his eyes filled with tears. He gasped and could not seem to stop, hugging himself more tightly. Remus felt if he did not hold the man in his arms soon, he’d die of the longing. He closed the distance between them slowly, giving Severus every opportunity to push him away. Severus closed his eyes when Remus’ arms finally encircled him, and Remus embraced him fiercely, kissing the top of his head over and over. He’d have liked to have worshipped every inch of him with his lips, but kisses didn’t really heal wounds, no matter what mothers told their children, and Severus’ were too deep to reach regardless.

Severus trembled but was yielding as Remus gathered him properly into his lap. He didn’t return his embrace, but he offered no resistance as Remus rocked him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, wishing there was a way to hold him closer still. “It’s alright, my sweet Severus, I’ve got you now.” It seemed an ironic thing to say to a vampire. Severus was by far the stronger of them physically; but strength came in different forms, and all Remus possessed was now Severus’ as well.

Remus felt the man relax into his arms. Not completely, but Severus seemed to be coming to accept that he was safe, that it was okay to breathe, okay to hurt, okay to be exactly as he was, and Remus would still be there to hold him. In all the time Remus had known him, Severus had never lowered his guard. Not really. He’d always seemed to expect battle at any moment and had held himself ready for it. And why shouldn’t he? He’d been under siege his whole life. It hadn’t only been James and Sirius who assailed him, but Remus understood now why Severus had never been able to let that resentment go.

 _Snivellus_. Hearing the name had always turned Remus’ stomach, but now it filled him with unbearable shame. His friends had not only tormented the young man, they had inspired derision toward Severus from others. Their taunt had been on the lips of Severus’ attacker’s as they’d violated him, and every time he heard it after, it had to have reminded the boy of what he’d suffered.

“I’m so sorry,” the werewolf sobbed, pressing his forehead to Severus’. “ _I’m so sorry._ ”

Remus felt Severus finally let go of the last of his reservations. He twisted in Remus’ arms to cling to him. He was quiet. Remus might have expected sobbing, like before, but Severus was still, seemed to be at peace. His tears dried while Remus’ still trickled, and he nestled his head over the werewolf’s heart.

“We have to find Harry,” Severus said softly after too brief a moment.

Remus shook his head. He knew they couldn’t stay there that way forever, but the horror seemed too fresh. Severus pulled away, and it felt as if a part of Remus had been removed, a limb amputated. He reached to pull him back, but Severus lay a hand on his chest and looked into his eyes. He looked more subdued than Remus had ever seen him.

“Thank you,” said Severus. “But...it’s time, Remus. We need to finish it.”

“You’re certain you’re ready?”

Severus nodded. Remus took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to borrow a bit of the man’s calm. He reached up to brush away the last remnants of Severus’ tears and leaned in to kiss him tenderly on the lips. Severus’ eyes remained closed even after Remus pulled away. Then he smiled--actually, genuinely smiled--and though it was small, it lingered. Remus liked the way it looked on him. He liked, as well, the clearness and confidence in his gaze when he opened his eyes, his perpetual scowl nowhere to be seen.

They helped each other to their feet, neither of them entirely stable but strong enough together to make their way to the Pensieve. Regardless of what they found, both of them would need to rest when they were done. They simply had nothing left. Their reserve tanks were empty. Just making it through the rest of this memory would be a feat. They would have to rely on each other’s arms.

When they returned to the hut, Harry lay on the floor, staring unseeing at the ceiling as Rainey stroked his face and arms. It was in no way sexual. She knew the trauma he’d just suffered. It had been hard enough on Remus, and he’d simply viewed it. Harry had lived it. Rainey had already removed the memory, but Harry had not yet emerged from it. When he did finally surface, he gasped, replenishing the tears on his cheeks Rainey had just smoothed away. He looked up at her, trembling and sorrowful, but couldn’t seem to speak. Her eyes apologized to him, as well, and he reached up and drew her down into his arms, cradling her gently as if to comfort her, even though he was the one who sobbed.

Remus’ anger toward her had cooled considerably. He’d have joined Harry in his embrace if he could. Her motivations became clearer to Remus. Harry’s enemies were Severus’ enemies, and Severus’ enemies were hers. Besides, she’d watched Harry and Severus’ relationship drain the vampire. It drained them both, but her loyalty was to the man in Remus’ arms. Like Remus, she’d seen that what had once sustained the two of them now seemed to poison them. Their need for each other was almost unhealthy, more an addiction than an attraction. But where Remus thought to help them heal, Rainey seemed content to render them asunder. He didn’t agree. He couldn’t agree with anything that brought Harry to harm. But he at least understood.

Rainey petted Harry until his tears dried.

“They’ll be looking for you, Lovely,” she said softly. She seemed to not want to rush him, but she glanced at the dead man on the floor. Harry nodded his understanding and sat up slowly. What they had done could not be discovered by search parties scouring the forest for a lost bloodwolf.

“What did you do to them?” Harry whispered after a long moment.

“I think you know that I did to them,” she answered, just as quietly.

Of course. Remus had heard her tell them that she would kill them, but he had not been able to focus on it at the time. There was an obvious reason none of their attackers were still alive for Remus to murder. Stanley hadn’t stumbled drunkenly into the Lake to drown. The Quidditch accident that had broken Boris’ neck had been no accident. And Bobby...well, he’d simply disappeared a week before Seventh Year exams. Remus remembered them searching the Forest for him. There had been rumours for months that he’d never recovered from his brother’s death, and that he had been acting increasingly erratically. Half the school thought he’d simply gone mad completely and wandered off. The other supposed he’d killed himself. Remus had to imagine that whatever Rainey had done to him, it would likely make Harry’s foray into torture here look like child’s play. If they ever found Bobby, Remus would bet good galleons they found him in pieces. He was not nearly as bothered by this as he knew he should be.

“Did Severus know?” Harry asked her.

“He had to have, but we didn’t speak of it,” she admitted. “They simply disappeared one at a time and we never acknowledged it. There was no point. He could not have stopped me. Talking would not have changed their fate. Perhaps he didn’t even want to. Discussing it would have forced him to admit that to himself, and he wasn’t ready to accept he could want such a thing.”

Remus looked to Severus, but the man showed no sign that he agreed or disagreed with what she’d said. He simply wore the same thoughtful expression Rainey did as she spoke. Knowing Severus as he did, Remus could imagine that all discussion of the event had been forbidden. Though, the undoubtedly horrible fates of rapists did not seem to trouble any of them at this point.

“I think he realized, then, what I would do for him,” she went on. “What I would do to those who hurt him. How far I would go. There is no length I would not go to to punish those who would harm him,” she told Harry, her expression hard but casually so. “Which is why we must find this bitch they call The Boss,” she sneered. “Why we must make her pay for what she has done.”

This was why she had allowed Harry to see the memory. So he could understand her drive to protect Severus at any cost and be compelled to join her. Harry stared at her, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“I can’t,” Harry told her finally, bracing himself for her response.

She glared at him. “What do you mean, you can’t?” Rainey demanded.

“I’m not leaving, Loraina,” he apologised. “Especially now. Don’t you see? They didn’t win. It’s worked out. I have to take care of Severus now,” he said determinedly, and Remus felt Severus hold him tighter, as surprised and touched by Harry’s devotion as he had been by Remus’ before. “I have to-”

“The ones who orchestrated this are out there still,” Rainey spat, rising angrily to her feet, “threatening to expose you, threatening your life and the lives of those you love. Threatening Severus through you! Don’t you want revenge?” 

“I’ve gotten all the revenge I care about,” Harry said, shaking his head. He looked over at the remains of his vengeance which still needed to be dealt with. He didn’t look remorseful, just weary. “I can take care of myself now,” he explained. “The ones I love can take care of themselves. Severus needs me. It’s over, Loraina,” he told her sadly. “Thank you,” he added sincerely, “for what you’ve given me, but...it’s over.”

Severus was shaken.

“Why?” he asked helplessly. “Why is he gone, then? Why did he come back to us just to leave?”

Remus shook his head. He had no answers, but he felt certain they were coming.


	51. I Am Possess'd of That is Mine

**Before: Severus**

Severus didn’t know what to do with himself. Potter was back. So far, Severus had avoided seeing him by refusing to leave his quarters, but that was not a feasible long-term plan. He’d have to resume classes on Monday. He’d be assigned duty in the Great Hall eventually. No matter. Evasion was working fine for the moment.

Severus spent the day fastidiously cleaning all the equipment in the lab and restarting all the potions that had been left to ruin while he was gone. He needed the work, needed it in a way he hadn’t in years. He was slightly nauseous dumping the remains of his Substisanguinus down the sink. There was so much waste, and his stores would run out long before the new batch was ready. He’d have to hunt in the forest in the meantime, but there were worse things. Once that was well on its way, he gathered ingredients for Skin-Seal ointment. It was a quick brew, and the infirmary stores had been depleted almost completely after the incident on the Hogwarts Express. He whipped up a batch and left it to cool in its cauldron.

As he worked, his wards alerted him that there were knocks at his office door. He didn’t _know_ that it was Potter, but just to be safe, he ignored them all. Severus would have to see him again, but not yet. He imagined what he’d say when the time came, all the nastiness that would be necessary to drive the young man away. Severus was good at nastiness. Historically, he was good at directing it at Potter.

Before he delivered it, though, what would he see in the boy’s eyes? Albus had said he looked lovelorn, but who knew if the old coot knew what he was talking about? Now that he could see him, would Harry still look on Severus as tenderly as he had in the dungeon? Or would he take in Severus’ features, well-lit and with rested eyes, and be disgusted that he’d ever let such a creature touch him?

Severus imagined Potter’s shamed expression as he processed all they had done together, and he transmuted the sour twist of pain in his stomach that resulted into a leathery armour for his heart. It would need to be hardened if he was to do as Albus had told him, anyway. Lovelorn or not, Severus had to separate himself from his feelings for the boy. And when he felt well fortified, he ceased thinking of Potter altogether and turned his attention to the construction of the equipment for Wolfsbane, which Albus had determined Lupin would be taking whether he liked it or not.

He had just screwed the last bit of tubing into place when he heard a knock at the door of his chambers. Loraina was the only one who ever came that way. No one else was familiar enough with the dungeons. Severus ignored it. He wondered, irritably, why she didn’t just walk in as she usually did; until he remembered that Loraina was not there at all. She was unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere near Perth. Severus set his tools aside, puzzled.

His confusion turned to annoyance as he climbed the stairs out of the lab. The request for admittance continued, became more insistent, a bang rather than a knock. He jerked his door open with a scowl.

Harry Potter stood on his doorstep. Severus had not prepared himself for this encounter, and his presence rattled him. The young man looked casually determined, and his piercing green eyes bore into Severus’. Not blindly in the direction that they supposed Severus’ to be, as they had in the dungeon, but straight into them, and Severus feared that gaze would prove more perceptive than any Legilimens. The ambiguity of darkness had made him comfortable before. Now Severus felt naked, and he disliked it.

It was almost as if they hadn’t really seen each other until this moment. As if they were two different people than they’d been in the dungeon. As if that ordeal hadn’t really counted somehow. Or else had counted more but had occurred on some other plane of existence. Severus was nonplused. How had Potter even come to be here? How the hell did he know the way? And beyond that...

“How did you get my password?” Severus demanded, still scowling.

The young man was clearly expecting something else by way of greeting, and he reflected Severus' annoyance back at him.

“ _Guess_ ,” he responded irritably.

Severus snorted fondly before he could catch himself. The cheeky little shit. He supposed he’d certainly given the young man reason enough to curse him.

“Well, thank you for reminding me it's time to change it, in any case. Now, what the hell do you want?”

To Severus’ frustration, the boy ignored the question and pushed past him to enter the man's quarters, turning angrily on him when he reached the centre of the sitting room. If Severus hadn’t been so thrown off kilter by his sudden appearance, he might have tried to prevent it. If he’d had some warning of his arrival, he might have actually succeeded in convincing himself he didn’t want the young man there.

Nevertheless, Potter had to leave. Severus had to drive him away, and more than that. Severus had to make him never want to return. Knowing what would be necessary to accomplish it made the vampire’s stomach curdle, but he could manage it, he thought. If he could deceive the Dark Lord, surely he could deceive an angsty teenager. He curled his lip as he shut the door.

“Your manners have certainly deteriorated since the last time I saw you,” he sneered. “Not that you had many then, but you at least _begged_ prettily.” It was at once intimate and crass. A flash of pain in Potter’s expression told Severus he had hit the note he’d been aiming for. It also made him feel dirty, but he’d deal with that later. “I blame the werewolf, of course. No doubt he spoiled you during your holiday. Tell me, did you have a little bell by your bed to summon him when you needed your nose wiped?”

A barb like that might have reduced others to tears, made them see the error in their coming and start them searching for an escape. Severus knew, however, that this one’s stubbornness would not be so easily broken.

“Why haven't I seen you since we were rescued?” Potter demanded quietly, anger tinting the hurt at the edges of his voice. “Why haven't you spoken to me since I got back?”

The truth wanted so desperately to be spoken. Severus felt it like a moth beating against a windowpane, chasing the light. He’d gone, seeking the young man’s bedside, and had been warned away, he wanted to profess. And if Severus hadn’t seen the wisdom of it, he might have argued, fought his way to the boy at all costs. But he knew Albus was right. Potter was too young, too new and possessed of too much potential to waste his time and affection on Severus, a man too mature for him both in terms of years and of trauma. Potter might seem an old soul, but even so, he wasn’t nearly so world-weary yet that Severus would make a suitable companion. The vampire would only be a shackle to everything the young man should endeavour to avoid.

Severus feigned exasperation, affected misunderstanding. “If you have come here seeking an apology for what happened, Mister Potter-”

"Stop it, Severus,” he whispered fiercely, close to tears. “Just...stop.”

Severus was consternated. He should reprimand the boy for addressing him by his given name. But it fell from his lips so sweetly, even in anger, that Severus could not bring himself to object. He sighed as if he resented Potter’s emotional display and attempted to escape the boy in the potions lab.

“You know how the floo functions, obviously. Feel free to show yourself out,” he called over his shoulder.

The sound of Potter’s footsteps on the stair behind him both panicked and endeared him. He wasn’t strong enough for this confrontation yet.  He hadn’t had enough time to cordon off his feelings. He was so unused to having them at all.

Harry rushed past him when they cleared the stairs to turn and force the man to face him. His expression was fierce and demanding.  

“Why are you here, Mister Potter?” Severus huffed anxiously. He wasn’t certain he could win this clash of wills. This was not his forte. The Dark Lord was formidable but cold. Severus could always match his malevolence with apathy. The assault he was facing now was unfamiliar. Severus didn’t know how to speak this language of overwhelming emotion, an intensity that burned hot instead of icy. It melted his composure.  

“What is wrong with you?” Harry spat, properly angry at this point. “What's with this 'Mister Potter' tripe? Have I done something to make you act this way?”

“What do you mean?” Severus asked with a sigh. He was tired already. The vulnerability he heard in the young man’s voice tugged at his heart, and he could not meet those imploring green eyes. Why couldn’t Harry just _go?_

“Am I meant to behave differently toward you now after our ordeal? I expect no such thing from you, Mister Potter. Now, if you would kindly return the favour,” he said, gesturing toward the exit.

“Yes, you are meant to respond differently, damn it!” Potter declared angrily, ignoring the prompt. “After _what we did,_ ” the young man began, but he broke off, momentarily unable to speak for his indignation. He took a deep breath to compose himself and tried again.

“How can you treat me this way? After everything that happened, after everything we said to each other there?” Harry asked, not bothering to try and hide his hurt any longer.

 _After what we did_.

Severus was suddenly on fire remembering. There had been so many firsts for both of them. And yet it had seemed as natural as breathing. As it would seem natural to reach out now and soothe the frustration that bunched Harry’s fists and knit his brow. Severus’ desire to do so was so overwhelming it made his skin crawl to resist it. He attempted to disguise his desperation behind a half-hearted scoff.

“I'm not about to hold you to anything whispered in a prison cell while facing certain death. Nor would I appreciate you doing as such to me," he said flatly. "The disaster the Malfoys orchestrated has been narrowly averted, no thanks to your recklessness. And the protections have been destroyed. So, congratulations. You are now free to fuck whomever you wish, Mister Potter,” he said, sick at the thought of another even touching the young man, much less-

"Stop calling me that!”

“ _Is it not your name?_ ” Severus shouted, reaching the end of his tether. He glowered at the young man, angry already over trespasses to his person that had not yet occurred.

“Severus-”

“ _You will address me as Professor Snape_ ,” the man commanded, his voice shaking. “We have discussed this before at length.” If they did not reinstate at least this much formality, Severus would never be able to withstand the craving to hear his name moaned in encouragement in-

“Oh, fuck you,” the boy sneered in response, derailing Severus’ train of thought, and Severus felt his self-control collapsing. In all his adult life, he’d never encountered this level of familiarity and disrespect. Severus’ threats no longer cowed. Potter seemed to believe himself immune to Severus’ wrath. But by the gods, the boy _would_ accept the impossibility of them maintaining a relationship, even if Severus had to scar him to manage it. If he persisted, Severus knew he would buckle, and that _could not happen_. He had to remind the boy why the Potions Master was feared by his peers.

Potter’s offence faltered when Severus suddenly stalked over to him, aggressively invading his personal space to stoop over the boy. The young man staggered back, startled by Severus’ vicious expression, and slightly disturbed the glass construction that sat on the table at his back. Severus pressed forward until his face was only inches from Potter’s, and his eyes narrowed.

“What did you think would happen, Mister Potter?” he asked in an icy hiss. “Did you really assume we would crawl out of that dungeon and live Happily Ever After? Just because I shoved my cock up your arse to keep from _eating you alive_?” he spat, his voice rising. “This is not some fairy tale, and I am not Prince _Fucking_ Charming!”

“But you aren't some villain, either! So stop pretending to be!” the boy cried, still resisting this version of Severus he didn’t want to believe really existed. Severus’ proximity and aggression seemed to have unnerved him, though, causing his voice to falter as he clung to the table behind him for support.

“We aren't enemies anymore,” Potter argued. He set his jaw defiantly. “You get me, Severus,” he insisted, “in a way no one else does. You seem to understand exactly what I need, and not just what I want or what's needed of me. And that isn’t the result of some accidental memory or virgin bloodlust," he challenged, his surety growing by the moment. "I think you know as well as I do that this isn’t something as sudden or superficial as you're making it out to be.”

Severus couldn’t respond, could barely maintain his harsh stare as he watched the boy’s composure rapidly crumbling in the face of the Potions Master’s continued hostility. He looked so lost and confused. Severus hated himself for it but told himself that the ends justified the means.

“Severus,” Potter pleaded, his breath coming in hiccups now. “ _Please_.”

Something inside Severus gently folded. Begging was his weakness, and this plea was so heartfelt and hopeful. Harry lay a hand on one of Severus's rigidly crossed arms, the gentle touch reminding the man of the several they'd shared already. Severus glared at the hand, snarling and jerking himself from Harry's grasp to keep himself from laying his own tenderly over it.

Severus was undone. He could not endure this back and forth any longer. This had to end. _Now_. Formality would not be enough. Vicious words and hurt feelings would not be enough. Severus had to make Harry hate him. He needed to think Severus was capable of the very worst in a human being. Severus had to do the worst thing he could conceive of. Or at least, he had to make Harry _believe_ he could do it. Albus had said at all costs, after all. And then, when Harry cried out for Severus to stop, Severus could send him away knowing he would never ever come back.

Without a word, he took Harry by the collar and yanked him to the side before raking the newly constructed Wolfsbane apparatus from the tabletop into the floor. Harry was startled by the violence, but Severus wasn’t done with it. He turned Harry roughly and bent him over the cleared workspace, pinning him there with a single hand pressed between the boy's shoulder blades. He could feel Harry tremble beneath his palm. Once the young man overcame his shock, he struggled, clawing at the tabletop, but he was no match for Severus’ vampiric strength.

Severus saw in his mind’s eye a boy almost Harry’s age in the same position, clawing desperately at the dirt in just this way. He knew the frenzied panic Harry was feeling. He knew it would ruin him to Severus forever. Which was necessary, no matter how it twisted Severus’ insides.

Severus couldn’t pause to think about what he was doing or he’d falter. He’d come this far, he had to drive the lesson home. Harry went still when the spell unfastened his trousers. Severus knew the dreaded realisation Harry’d just had of what was happening. Without pausing to digest it, Severus plunged his fingers into the cauldron of healing salve still sitting on the table by Harry’s head and tried not to be sick at the gasp elicited when he immediately smeared the cool substance in the cleft of the young man’s arse cheeks.

It seemed Severus was no longer himself as he pressed his stiffness against Harry; not hard enough to penetrate, only hard enough to hurt. Severus had gone cold. He could not do this as himself. He willed himself to become something like what he wanted Harry to believe he was, despite that his teenaged self was screaming at him to stop this madness, for the love of the gods.

“Tell me you want it, Harry,” Severus snarled mockingly through clenched teeth, his still-slick fingers finding purchase in Harry's hair. “Tell me you want this!” he bellowed, tears standing in his eyes.

Severus held himself still as he awaited Harry’s tearful plea for mercy. It needed to come soon. It was a miracle Severus had managed an erection at all and it would not hold for much longer; and then the illusion would be ruined and all this distress would be for nothing. The boy was shaking. Any moment now he’d weep for Severus to please stop. He'd cry out that, _no_ , he did not want this. Any moment now...

“Yes,” he heard Harry whisper through gritted teeth, his chest heaving.

Severus’ own chest froze. Harry’s hands went to the edge of the table above his head, clutching it. His knuckles were white with the strength of his grip as he seemed to be preparing himself. And Severus was dumbfounded, completely at a loss.

“Yes!” Harry keened, and there was no mistaking it this time. “I want _you_ , damn it! I want the good and the bad. I want...” He trembled, took a deep breath, seemed to steel himself. “I want you even if it hurts,” he finished quietly, as though to himself. And then he set his forehead on the surface of the table and waited.

Severus stared at the young man in disbelief. He looked at himself, looked at what he was doing, and was horrified.

_What had he done?_

Even this was a crime. What the hell was he trying to save the boy from that was any worse than this? He’d succeeded in convincing Harry that he was capable of atrocity by committing it. And Severus wasn’t sure what was more painful, that Harry believed such a thing of him or that the young man accepted and forgave it.

Severus staggered back. “Get up, Harry,” he begged, voice trembling.

How could he even consider allowing such a thing to happen without a fight? Harry Potter, the boy who fought everything tooth and nail, necessary or not, would let Severus rape him to prove his commitment? It was touching but abhorrent. He shuddered to think what might have happened if the young man had given his heart to someone less scrupulous.

Scrupulous? Severus was disgusted with himself. He could never again claim any moral high ground.

“Get up!” Severus cried, distressed that the young man had not yet moved. He tasted bile in the back of his throat and staggered to the sink. If his stomach had not been empty, as indeed it had been for several years now, he would never have managed not to vomit. Even so, it took almost all his willpower not to heave his vacant guts into the basin.  

Severus sensed Harry had risen to his feet and was staring at him from the other side of Severus’ trembling curtain of black hair.

“Get out,” the man said quietly, his voice strained, before clamping his lips shut again to hold back his sickness.

“Fuck you,” Harry replied plainly, a barely repressed rage in his voice. He leaned closer, but Severus still could not face him. Though, Harry was entitled to it. Severus deserved every evil thing Harry could throw at him now.

“You tell _me_ , Severus,” Harry said instead in an angry whisper. “Tell me what _you_ want.”

Severus scoffed in disbelief. Why was Harry not berating him? Why wasn’t he screaming about what a vile man Severus was?

“Since when has it ever mattered what I wanted?” Severus muttered bitterly.

It never seemed as if Severus’ will was ever included in any equation, and any time he’d had a chance of asserting it, he’d fucked things up. Want to get back at the bullies who tormented you in school? Well, why not take the Dark Mark? That will show them. Severus sneered at his utter and seemingly perpetual stupidity.

“What do you want, Severus?” Harry persisted, his voice losing its hard edge and gently coaxing the man to answer. It hurt Severus’ heart because he knew he was not deserving of Harry’s grace. He was not deserving of the young man in any capacity.

“Harry,” he stammered, his voice brittle. “I'm not...You're not meant for-”

“I didn't ask you what you think you deserve!" Harry interrupted, frustrated by the man’s refusal to voice what they both knew he felt. "I asked what you _wanted_ ,” he finished more quietly.

Finally, Severus lifted his face to Harry, willing him to see the wretchedness there, the apology. The young man’s expression showed no condemnation for what had just happened, only stubborn but patient tenderness. And Severus simply couldn't fathom it.

Did he dare to answer Harry honestly? He swallowed thickly and took a shuddering breath.

“What I want,” he whispered hesitantly, speaking his heart with all the competence and steadiness of a newborn colt learning to walk, “is a young man...”

He turned to Harry, his arms rising as if of their own accord to embrace him, though he knew he had no right to do so and stopped them with effort.

“...One who is foolish. And brave. And beautiful,” he admitted. He looked at Harry as if he'd never seen him before, wanting to take in every curve of his face just in case this ended as he expected it to end.

Harry’s stubborn expression softened almost imperceptibly. “You had better be referring to me, Severus,” he said, with only a hint of play. “Or else I'll have to go ask Eric what he's doing this evening.”

Severus knew he was playing into Harry’s hand, but he couldn’t help himself. His expression hardened and his jaw clenched.

“Say it, Severus,” Harry whispered as if knowing already that he’d won. He seemed suddenly very close and his breathing was shallow but his voice was smooth. It made Severus’ head swim. He seized one of Severus’ hovering hands before the man could think to prevent it and placed it firmly on the small of his back, holding it there.

“Say ' _This is mine_.'”

Severus' brow furrowed uncertainly, but his gaze fell to Harry's lips. It was true he was holding the young man, whether he wanted to be or not. But did possession impart ownership?

“Mine,” Severus repeated softly, considering the taste of truth on his tongue. He wasn’t yet convinced, but the pressure of his hand at Harry's back increased and Harry let his own fall away.

“That's right,” Harry said firmly as if reasoning with a small child. “Now, Severus... _take what is yours._ ” His eyes held challenge, obstinance, invitation.

Seduction.

Harry saw Severus as he was. Worse than he was, perhaps, and still he was surrendering himself to Severus’ keep. He really would belong to the man, if only Severus would be bold enough to claim him. After a long moment's hesitation, Severus did as he was told. His timidity fell away and he snatched Harry to him, pressing the lengths of their bodies together.

He _would_ claim this young man. Because he wanted him. Because Harry deserved him, a lover that would place Harry’s well-being above all others, even his own. Severus would be his keeper and his stalwart champion, and expectations be damned. Albus could go hang himself. Severus understood the man’s concerns and had concluded he did not share them. For who else would love this boy as he was meant to be loved? Who his own age could understand his burden or his needs and meet them and more?

No. Harry belonged with Severus. _To_ Severus.

Given permission, his hands roamed: up to Harry's shoulder and down to his arse and back and between. And Harry didn't simply yield. He returned the man's possessive passion, snaking his arms inside Severus' robes to claw at his back, to grip his arse cheek through stiff black linen, driving the man to distraction.  

“Mine,” Severus whispered again, thrilling at the rightness of it. His hand came to Harry’s face, sliding off Harry’s glasses and tenderly brushing away the last traces of the young man's tears. He would spend the rest of whatever time they had left to them making amends for their provocation. Then he leaned down and kissed him, far more sweetly than anything that had ever passed between them before, and when he drew back, he licked his lips, still able to taste Harry there. He opened his eyes slowly, almost surprised to find Harry still standing before him, despite that he still cupped the young man's face in his palm. Harry raised his own hand to Severus', pressing it to his cheek, and he leaned forward with his lips parted, his eyes heavily lidded.

“Take me, Severus,” he whispered.

The man hesitated for only a heartbeat. In a swirl of limbs and linen, Severus swept Harry away from the sink and backed him against the wall. He slid his hands down Harry's arms to claim his wrists, but instead of pinning them as before, Severus gently drew Harry's hands up and pressed their palms together, twining his fingers in Harry's own.

Their kiss was slow; deep but achingly tender, as if some things simply could not be expressed in any other way and the two had so much to tell one another. But it wasn't long before its sweetness evolved, grew into a heated passion that was almost a living thing. It breathed fire, out from Harry's mouth and into Severus' and back again. Their palms parted to find new territory to conquer.

Severus was content to simply taste him, every surface of Harry's mouth. Of all they’d done before, this had been Severus’ favourite. It seemed so much more intimate than intercourse. Any two people could fuck, but kisses like these were rare and worth a hundred impersonal orgasms.

Harry seemed to want more, however. He reached for Severus’ open trousers, causing the man to gasp against Harry's tongue. He shoved Severus' pants out of the way so he could run the flat of his palm carefully up the length of Severus' erection. The man could not prevent his fingers from biting into Harry’s waist. It had been so long since he’d been touched in this way.

“Harry,” Severus groaned, his forehead falling to rest on the young man’s shoulder. He spilled his name as Harry had spilled Severus’ name before, realising it was the first time he’d allowed himself to do so. And it had been effortless, as was this surrender to Harry’s novice but effective finesse. Harry buried his face in Severus' neck and applied it with more fervour, seemingly intent on wringing the man’s climax from him as quickly as possible, but Severus' hand fell to his, stilling him.

Severus wanted more. He craved the wholeness he’d known in the dungeon when they two had finally met. Severus could not feel he truly owned the young man until he knew it again and saw it echoed in Harry’s eyes as well.

“No,” he panted. “In you. Harry... _please_ ,” he whispered.

Harry moaned at the request, took Severus' hand and pressed it against the young man's answering hardness. And once again Severus was overcome by the newness of it, and also his surprising need for it. The need to possess this cock that was not his own, to be its source of pleasure, the reason it throbbed hard against his grasp.

“Why are you asking, Severus? _Take_ ,” Harry whispered emphatically through clenched teeth. “I belong to you now. We belong to each other.”

Yes. Severus belonged to the young man. And as his willing slave Severus did as he was bade with an approving growl, grasping Harry's thighs and hoisting the young man as Harry eagerly wrapped his legs around Severus' hips, wrapped his arms around the man's neck, and allowed himself to be carried to the conveniently cleared table to be laid down on it.

“Beautiful,” Severus muttered to himself, shoving Harry's shirt up to reveal his stomach and chest before lowering his lips to them. How had he ever refrained from doing so before in the dungeon when Harry lay unconscious before him?

“Beautiful,” he mumbled against Harry's skin as the young man writhed, sinking his hands into Severus' hair. He did not seek to direct Severus, he seemed simply to want to anchor himself in the sensation, and Severus loved the hunger in his grip.

“ _Gods_ , Harry,” Severus gasped, tugging frantically at the young man's still-open trousers. He stripped them, shoes and all, and tossed them to the treacherously glass-strewn floor before stepping back to take in all of Harry.  

The young man was sprawled unselfconsciously as if he fed off the lust of Severus’ gaze. Had there ever been a time when Severus failed to recognise the beauty of the male form? It seemed a lifetime ago that he refused to even consider it. But then, who could look upon this Adonis and not be moved to carnal passion by the perfection found in every line and curve, every swell and hollow?

“Take off your robes,” Harry said with calm authority, startling Severus out of his reverent appreciation. “And your shirt. Take them off.”

Though his erection already hung from his open pants, Severus hesitated. His eyes cut to Harry's. He had not been naked in front of another person in a very, very long time. Not where the other person could see him, at any rate. The young man raised himself to his elbows, his brow furrowed.

“Severus? Let me see you.”

It wasn't a request. Severus looked again at Harry’s robust and youthful form, but this time to mentally contrast it with his own. He had none of Harry’s fullness, no muscles exquisitely defined by practising Quidditch. Severus was wiry and thin, pale in an unhealthy way from too many hours underground. His was skin papery by comparison. What if Harry found him wanting? Surely all he knew of other men was what he’d seen in the locker room or the dorms, and Severus knew he could not compete with even the most lacking youth. Would he submit himself for examination only to watch as disappointment darkened Harry’s bright gaze? Would he see the young man’s arousal deflate despite Harry’s best intentions?

“ _Severus_.”   

Harry was becoming impatient, and Severus couldn’t blame him. The young man was himself stripped and displayed, and it was only fair that Severus returned his openness. He met Harry's eyes again and locked them there as his hands went woodenly to his buttons, peeling them open one by one with reluctance. Severus shrugged off his clothing with stoic resignation and stood bare-chested, his trousers open and hanging precariously from his hips as he waited for Harry’s unspoken criticism.

To Severus’ surprise, Harry leaned forward and reached for him with eagerness. He pulled Severus snugly between his thighs, grinning as he ran his hands hungrily over the man’s pale flesh. Severus looked down on him in bafflement, then acceptance, and then, ultimately, desire. It was best not to question it. He grasped Harry's hips to drag him to the edge of the table, grinding their lengths together in the process and causing them both to gasp.

It was Harry who reached over and dipped his hand in the cauldron this time in order to slick Severus' cock for him, lifting his knees and guiding Severus where he wanted him. As he did so, Severus' hand found its way to Harry's hair and tugged his head to the side. It was not rough or painful, only firm, and at just enough of an angle to communicate control. Harry moaned his acquiescence even before Severus buried his face in Harry’s neck to coax it.

Gods. _He was perfect._

There was no two-finger ritual this time. There was only careful control. The healing salve took care of any tears as they occurred. It took every ounce of willpower Severus had not to take him more roughly. Perhaps at some later date, when they were both more accustomed to this act and Severus could be confident he was not damaging him, he might teach Harry how just the right amount of pain could sweeten the pleasure. Until then, he proceeded cautiously.  

But Harry hung boneless in the man's arms long before he had finished sliding home, and Severus didn't hesitate this time to start pumping the young man. It was there, the completion he sought, and it shone from Harry’s expression, too, as they looked into each other’s eyes. Later, Severus would take his time. They would discover together just how long ecstasy could be prolonged. But this was an initiation, the sealing of an unspoken compact, and too powerful to be sustained for long. He answered Harry moan for moan as he drove them both quickly toward climax, and the clench of Harry's orgasm wrung Severus' from him so that they came almost simultaneously.

They clung to each other after, but the perspiration that covered them almost defeated their grips. Their slack and swollen lips first found then lapped faintly at one another. Their breath came in ragged gasps. They smelled fantastically of sweat and sex and blood, though Severus knew the ointment that had eased their union prevented any bleeding.

It wasn’t blood, but Severus had smelled this before. He’d almost thought he’d imagined it then, simply because he was starving. But here it was again, and on a hunch, Severus reached between them. His fingers slid through the mess that wet both their stomachs before Severus brought them to his lips. His tongue darted out to taste the substance and he moaned, his eyes fluttering momentarily closed.

“Almost as sweet as blood,” he rasped.

He supposed it stood to reason. Vampires did not truly feed off blood. They fed off the life force carried on it. And in that respect, cum was miraculously similar. Severus didn’t bother being disgusted by his craving. He poured Harry's flaccid body back onto the table, slipping out of him as he bent to lap the remainder of the stuff from the young man's skin.

“My gods, Harry,” he exclaimed in a shredded gasp. “I could practically live off your expulsions.”

He climbed the younger man, clambering onto the table to hover over him and share his newfound bounty. Harry whimpered weakly into the kiss, which was rich and thick and absolutely transcendent. Severus pulled back to look at him for a long moment that felt suspended in time.

“I could drown in you, Harry,” he whispered, amazed.

“I feel like I've already drowned in you,” Harry said through a tired smile, reaching up to stroke the damp hair from Severus' face. He was exhausted and fading quickly.

“I suppose it's true after all, then,” Severus said with a small smile which he moved quickly to hide in Harry's neck as the younger man drifted off. “You were the death of me. La Petite Mort. And I'll happily die a thousand little deaths in you still to come, Harry. If you'll let me.”

“Promise?” Harry mumbled happily, just as he slipped into sex-sated slumber.

Severus shifted to lay beside him on the table so as not to disturb him and watched him doze for the longest time in humbled awe. Harry’s shirt was still bunched absurdly under his arms, but this time, Severus did not lower it. He reached out and ran his fingers carefully over Harry’s bare skin, and even though the young man was apparently asleep, it was not a trespass now. This flesh belonged to Severus.

For the time being.

He knew there would come a time when the young man outgrew him. If they managed to survive this war, Harry would have to start thinking of building a life, and he could not do that with the Potions Master. Severus was bound to his position, both within the school and in society. He was content with his lot, but Harry needn’t be.

But if they didn’t survive this war, which seemed all the more likely to Severus, Harry deserved to have known a lover. He deserved the worship Severus would bestow. Severus would support and adore him. He would shield and ground him. And until the time came, the young man would know love. It was the only and perhaps the greatest gift Severus could really give him.

But he couldn’t think of death now. Living was too glorious. He smirked to think of how pissed Albus would be when he found out. But what could the man do, really? Harry would continue to do whatever in the hell he wanted, as he had always done. And Severus would be kept close for his ties to the Dark Lord, whether Albus liked it or not. It might be interesting to see the Headmaster challenge Harry on the matter. If Severus could not withstand the young man’s stubbornness, even Albus Dumbledore would be helpless in the face of it. Besides, Severus wasn’t afraid of battle. He’d known so little happiness, he refused to be ashamed of embracing this one. Let the others mutter. If Harry willed it, it would work out. And when he didn’t, Severus would let him go with grace and gratitude.

 


	52. Look, Sirs, if You Can Find the Huntsman Out

**Now: Remus**

It was heartening that Harry seemed to have chosen them over this mad campaign, at least initially. Remus dreaded learning what could possibly have been sufficient to change his mind, especially after the evening they had all shared.

As Rainey stomped angrily from the hut, the memory shifted. They were standing in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place now. Both men pulled a pained breath on seeing Harry standing at the sink, naked and still glowing. He was refilling the teapot that Remus only just remembered he’d set to boil before he had been drawn upstairs. He’d promptly forgotten about it when he’d overheard Harry vow to Severus to turn Remus out. Though, that pain seemed old now. If they were to climb the stairs, they would find themselves in bed together but on opposite sides of it, shyly touching fingertips across the divide. How far they’d come in just a handful of hours.

Remus could hear the tap running in the tub upstairs. It had not yet overflowed. It slowed the flow of water in the kitchen sink but Harry stood patiently, grinning to himself as the pot gradually filled.

It was a serene moment, and they were all startled by a sudden knock on the kitchen window over the sink. Harry only just managed not to drop the teapot in alarm, and he set it aside with a scowl, turning off the water before peering through the darkened window panes into the back garden.

Remus and Severus shared a perplexed look. Grimmauld Place was Secret Kept. Remus himself was the Keeper. Anyone who knew how to find the house could and would have come by the front door. Harry searched the garden intently, and he nearly stumbled backwards in surprise when the knock occurred again, accompanied this time by a flurry of feathers. He hurriedly unlatched the window and threw it wide.

A nondescript brown owl flapped inside but did not linger. It dropped the small parcel it carried to the floor before immediately disappearing back through the window. Remus felt Severus stiffen at his side. The episode had been bizarre, but not enough to account for the troubled expression on his and Harry’s faces.

“What? What is it, Severus?”

The vampire swallowed apprehensively. “Blood,” he said simply.

“Whose?” Remus asked with a shudder, his expression matching his lovers’ now as he stared at the small box Harry knelt to pull from under the table.

The young man seemed loathe to touch it, though, glancing up the stairs more than once as he considered it anxiously. With a trembling hand, Harry retrieved the package and stood, setting it carefully on the table. He peeled back the brown wrapper slowly until he could pry open the lid of the paper box. Even Remus could smell the contents now.

Harry seemed inordinately terrified by what he found, though, and Remus turned to Severus for explanation. The man scowled and tested the air, a look of concentration on his face, before his hand flew to his mouth. 

“My gods,” Severus gasped.

Before Remus could ask, Harry reached inside and gingerly plucked out the contents of the box, and Remus had a sinking feeling that he understood. Most of its true colour was dyed through with the tacky red tint of drying blood, but Remus spied unsoiled streaks of rich chestnut in the shorn curl in Harry’s fingers.

Remus’ eyes fell closed with sickening dread. “I _told_ her,” he said in a pained whisper. “I warned her it was too dangerous to wander the Forest alone.”

“But who could know this particular threat stalked it?” Severus sighed.

Harry dropped the thing onto the table as if it were caustic and glanced nervously toward the stair, clearly torn. He disappeared to the laundry, emerging in a t-shirt and jeans before stuffing his feet in the trainers by the garden door. Then he snatched the parcel and its contents from the kitchen table and rushed to the sitting room with Severus and Remus struggling to keep up.

It didn’t matter. The memory ripped them first to Severus’ rooms and then to Loraina’s from there. She seemed less than pleased to find Harry suddenly stepping from her hearth uninvited.

“What’s the meaning of this?” she scowled. Severus made a small noise and Remus turned to him. He was scrutinizing the women.

“What is it?” Remus asked. Severus shook his head.

“She’s lying.”

But she hadn’t said much that Remus could tell. Before he could inquire further, Harry stepped toward her.

“ _Loraina_ ,” he said urgently, but she wasn’t finished.  
  
“Being accomplices does not give you the right to invade my privacy on a whim, you entitled brat. What is it you want now?” she demanded, growing angrier still. “Another sliver of my soul? Another taste of my despair with nothing to offer in return?” she spat, pacing the floor in front of him. Severus frowned at her, shaking his head.

“I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “But something is off.”

Harry sighed. “Loraina, please, listen to me-”  
  
“So you like pain, is that it? Oh, I know! Let me show you the brutality of a forced infection. _That_ might give you a kick. Or maybe you’d rather see the height of the Madness when Severus nearly drained me dry, shagging me into the dirt while I pleaded with him to look into my eyes and remember who he was!”

Severus winced and looked away, shamefaced. Remus held him tighter. Whatever was wrong would have to be puzzle out later.

“No, no. Even better,” she went on, her anger curdling to despair. “Let me show the moment when I realized Severus was done with me. The sad, dead look in his eye when I almost struck him for not ripping the throats from the brigands who would have left us with our own throats slit for nothing but our wands and shoes,” she said, causing Severus to curl in on himself as if her words were blows. Remus stroked Severus’ back, watching the scene for the both of them.

“Or would you rather I just bottled these up for you to sip on?” Rainey asked, gesturing to the tears that spilled down her cheek.

Harry looked at her and shook his head in sad apology. He understood her affront, as did Remus. She had shown him something intensely personal with the expectation that it would sway Harry to her way of thinking, but the sacrifice had been in vain, and though Harry had not been obligated to follow her because of it, she felt betrayed.

“Here I was, thinking you were a masochist,” she hiccuped, her whimpers making her sound more like a heartbroken little girl than the bloodsucking killer Remus knew her to be, “with all those bruises Severus left on you. But you’re not,” she accused poutily. “You’re a sadist. The worst kind. The kind that pretends they aren’t. Fucking Gryffindor,” she muttered finally as she turned her back on him, angrily swiping at her cheeks.    
  
“Loraina. I am sorry,” Harry said softly with aching sincerity. “I know you’re angry with me, and I don’t blame you. I apologize if you feel like I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. But I never actually agreed-”  
  
“Loopholes,” she spat disdainfully. “Loopholes!” she spun around to shout at him, startling Severus into turning back to face her. “You are so fond of your excuses,” she muttered bitterly with a dismissive wave as she turned to continue pacing.  
  
“Look,” he began, sympathetic but growing frustrated. “It’s not my fault that you needed me more than I needed you. But now you have to _listen_ to me, becau-”  
  
“Need you?” she interrupted. “ _Need_ you?” she repeated, her face a disgusted grimace. “I don’t need you, you vain little shit,” she spat, livid. “Who in hell do you think you are? Who in hell do you think _I_ am? I _wanted_ purpose and direction. I wanted distraction. All of which you conveniently offered. I need nothing and no one.

"And I don’t have to listen to fuck all,” she added to his assertion. “If you want to have a confessional, run to your pet mongrel. He is so fond of his heart-to-hearts,” she sneered. “Or go find your damned bleeding heart Mudblood.”  
  
“ _Goddamnit_ , Loraina,” Harry shouted finally. “ _They_ have _the damned bleeding heart Mudblood._ That’s why I’m here!”  
  
Loraina abruptly stopped pacing. The anger and anguish instantly vanished from her face and posture as she turned to him, replaced by incredulity and curiosity in equal measure.

“There. That look,” Severus muttered, almost to himself, his eyes narrowed. “It isn’t sincere. She’s up to something.”

“You think she knew?” Remus asked. Severus shrugged. He seemed so tired.

“Do I think she could have allowed Hermione to be taken because she knew it would drive Harry to her? It’s certainly within the realm of possibility. She was in the Forest. I doubt she could have been unaware of intruders. Watching whatever mischief they committed unseen from a distance, knowing she could kill them at any moment without them ever seeing her face, is just the sort of game she’d enjoy. Though I really thought she held some fondness for Hermione,” he frowned. “She finds her earnestness entertaining.”

Rainey cocked her head at Harry, waiting for his response. The young man took a breath to calm himself before extending his still shaking hand to offer her the box. She snatched it from him and immediately fished the lock of hair from inside, rolling it between her fingers as she held it up to examine it.

“Oh yes,” Severus sneered, shaking his head in disgust. “She knew.”

“Then what was that diatribe, if she knew why Harry had come?”

“Convenient. She’s still angry with him, even though she knows she’s getting her way. And she was likely deflecting suspicion, besides.”

Rainey sneered. “The ones you love can take care of themselves can they?” she taunted Harry, returning the hair to the box and then tossing the thing back to him. She licked her fingers clean before crossing her arms and scoffing at him. Harry glared at her but did not respond.

“Why come to me?” she asked, giving him a distrustful look. Her manipulation was artful. Remus had no doubt Severus was the only person who could have spotted it. She smirked as if divining the answer.

“Because you know,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “If you tell them, they will stop you. You’ve always known that.”

The more Harry fumed, the more gloatingly she sneered.

“They will not come with you. They will alert the Ministry instead. But the Aurors are bunglers. How challenging was your final exam?” she goaded.

Harry threw her an acrid scowl.

“They’ll push papers and follow dead ends,” she continued to prod, circling him as she spoke. “And all the while your Hermione will be in the hands of murderers and drug-addled madmen.” She drew close to Harry to whisper in his ear, wringing as much from her revenge as she could.

“I wonder what they'll do to her when she runs her mouth,” she said, skipping back away from the suddenly murderous expression the comment evoked, seeming tickled by it. “Or when they get bored,” she shrugged. “She is a pretty little thing under all that frizzy mess.”

Remus was feeling far less understanding toward her with every word. Harry was trembling with anger. It reminded Remus of when she’d tried to draw out the wolf before, but this was more malicious.

“I do wonder what they’ll do,” she went on musingly. “And to think she was so happily free of you and your tripe just days ago. But now she may never get back to her shiny new lover on their sparkling private beach. And it will be all...your...fault,” she said quietly, leaning in as she spoke, only inches from Harry’s increasingly violent expression.  
  
She finally succeeded in provoking the young man to violence. Harry snatched her by her shirt front and slammed her, snarling, against the sitting room wall. She was unfazed. In fact, she began giggling so uncontrollably she couldn’t even manage to free herself from his grasp. Harry’s aggression withered to be replaced by disgust and he released her, letting her slip down the wall and onto the floor where she continued to laugh.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Harry demanded down at her. Her giggles quickly spent themselves, and she looked up at him with a grin, her head lolling against the stones behind it.  
  
“Well, of course I will, Lovely,” she shrugged. “I’m ready when you are.”  
  
Harry nodded, seeming relieved, but then he turned to pace. “I’ve left my wand at home,” he fretted. “It’s in my jeans pocket in my room and I didn’t want to disturb the both-”

He broke off his explanation too late. Loraina pulled herself from the floor, looking as if she were about to be ill.

“Now why would it be in a different pair of trousers on the floor of your room where you might ‘disturb’ the boys?” She sniffed him, her nose scrunched. “I could tell you’d just been with one of them. Lucky Ducky, though, seems to have finally managed them both.” She sneered at him, but Harry’s expression held an aggressive lack of apology.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, eyeing him with disappointment. “ _You_ don’t need a wand.”  
  
Harry nodded but looked uncomfortable. _Remus_ was uncomfortable. Harry’s creature abilities could only do so much against armed Wizards. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Does she think he’s attempting rescue or fucking suicide?” he spat, his aggravation quickly returning.

It seemed she was merely toying with Harry, however, as she sauntered over then to pull something from the drawer of her writing desk. When she returned, she presented him with a wand Remus had never seen before.

“Willy’s,” she explained with a shrug. Harry took it reluctantly. It looked shoddy. Definitely not an Ollivander’s. Harry gave it a swish, though, and it responded.

“We don’t know any more about where to find her than the Ministry does,” Harry pointed out, seeming to grow less confident about the endeavour with each passing moment.  
  
“Don’t we?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “I’ve been spending a lot of time on Knockturn.”  
  
Harry stared at her as if contemplating their odds. “We won’t get in,” he added anxiously. “If we go in with our fangs bared, the real bad guys will see us coming and scarper.”  
  
“So, we won’t go in with our fangs bared,” she shrugged. She returned to the desk drawer and took more things out of it.

“Polyjuice,” she explained, displaying a flask. Severus sputtered with indignation. “And bits of Willy,” she added, several strands of hair pinched between her fingertips. “Don’t look so surprised, Lovely. We both know you’re rubbish at foresight, and I never go into anything unprepared.”      
  
“You just happen to have Polyjuice?” Harry asked suspiciously.  
  
“One of Severus’ N.E.W.T.s made it for her final assessment. I helpfully offered to ‘dispose’ of it for him. Poor dear was so busy with _other things_ at the time,” she explained, her voice thick with accusation. Severus seethed but seemed too tired to rail about it.  
  
Harry took the flask hesitantly, glancing at the floo. He appeared to be having serious doubts.

“You can go to them, Harry,” Rainey said at his ear, startling him. “But if you do, Hermione won’t be coming back alive. It’s up to you.”  
  
Harry threw Rainey a resentful look, but his grip tightened around the flask in his one hand and the unfamiliar wand in his other. He warred with himself for a moment, but Remus saw his resolve cement.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quickly, already moving toward the floo. Rainey was disquieted but tried belatedly to hide it.  
  
“Why? Saying goodbye? It will only make it harder,” she said, watching uneasily as he scooped out a handful of floo powder. “Come, Lovely,” she urged, her voice full of tragic understanding. “Let us simply go.”  
  
“It’s not that,” Harry objected. “Just wait for me. I promise, I‘ll be back.”

He didn’t give her an opportunity to argue. He was already tossing the powder, stepping into Severus’ quarters. He flew down the steps to the lab, and Severus and Remus followed as quickly as they were able. Which wasn’t very.

By the time they made it to the bottom, Harry was stowing the potion Severus had just brewed him into a felt sack, bits of chamomile still clinging to its mouth. He added the bottle of Polyjuice to it before tying it off. Then he cast about for an empty flask. The amount of blood he deposited in it was almost worrying.

“Blood?” Remus asked. He’d wondered before but had been too distracted by the other flask’s contents to ask.

“For me to work with,” Severus said, his voice small and wavering. “In case he doesn’t come back.”

Harry healed the cut with a smear of balm from a cauldron in the corner and took up the second flask, and abruptly, they found themselves in Minerva’s office once again. The cache of memories seemed finally to be spent. For a moment, they merely stood silently holding each other. The task ahead was daunting. They now knew why Harry had gone, but they didn’t learn more beyond that Moribund’s was a place of interest, and Kingsley had told them that days ago.

Eventually, Severus stirred, staggering over to the Pensieve to begin fishing the memories out of its basin with a shaking hand to place them back into their flask. Without him there to stabilize him, Remus swayed. He felt faint.

“We have to alert the Ministry,” he told Severus as he watched the man work.

“ _Do_ we?” he challenged, still concentrating on his task.

“Severus, they have Hermione,” Remus argued. “Loraina knew this mission would get them killed. _He_ knows. We have to help somehow.”

Severus waved his wand at the newly capped flask of memories and they vanished, likely sent somewhere secure in his quarters.

“There was a reason he did not go to the Ministry himself, Remus, and it was a valid one,” he said, shaking his head. “How closely do we want them looking into the disappearance of one William Royal? And there’s no telling what gods awful things Loraina did to Timothy.”

“Severus. He could _die_.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Severus snarled, rounding on him and startling the werewolf. “Do you think for a second I’m not eaten alive by panic and worry? But we can’t have them finding him only to toss him into fucking Azkaban!”

Remus was more than a bit hurt by the severity of his tone and it showed, but he knew the man was at his wit’s end. Severus looked contrite and reached for him, his touch apologetic.

“We have to at least speak to Kingsley,” Remus urged, resting his forehead against Severus’. He liked the way it made them feel connected. “He’ll keep it between us.”

“I agree,” said Severus, his tone much softer. “We should get dressed.”

Remus nodded, but he didn’t think he had the strength left to speak to Kingsley, in rags or not.

“Severus, I think we need to rest,” he mumbled, fading. “I know this is urgent, but-”

He was interrupted by a loud crack behind them. The two men let their arms fall away from each other and turned to the noise to find Minerva scowling at them. She was wearing a shawl and hat, clearly having been out. It made sense, now, how they’d managed not to wake her. She looked a bit frazzled, and not at all pleased to find them in her private quarters.

“And just what are you two doing here? And in such a condition!” she said frowning at their state of undress.

Neither of them wore shoes. Remus was in a dressing gown with no sash and Severus’ shirt no longer possessed enough buttons to be functional.

“I understand that we’ve been more informal with each other as of late, but that’s no call to use my things without permission,” she grumbled, looking pointedly at the Pensieve which they had not yet managed to put away.

Then she seemed to notice the rents in what little they wore, and the scratches beneath, and she softened. A bit. She seemed to resent the suspicion that her reasons for offense were vanishing and was flustered. “What is the meaning of all this?”

The two men shared a dispirited look. Where to start? How much should they share?

“Harry’s disappeared, Minerva,” Remus began, taking a step toward her but quickly deciding it best not to take another. Simply remaining upright was proving a challenge, never mind forward movement. “Hermione’s been kidnapped. He’s trying to save her. We’re following. Soon,” he promised, trying to convince himself he would be able. “We have to-”

The creak of the office door swinging open silenced him, and the three of them turned at the same time to identify their visitor. Remus blinked, wondering if his exhaustion was causing him to hallucinate, but he felt Severus’ hand grope for his arm as if the vampire needed to steady himself, and he knew they were seeing the same thing.

Minerva turned from the door to lift a demanding eyebrow at them both. “You were saying, Remus?”


	53. For He Must Not Die

**Severus**

“ _Hermione?_ ”

She looked bedraggled and peevish. Severus couldn’t do much other than blink at her at first.

“No one was at Grimmauld Place,” she began irritably. “There was water _everywhere_. What on earth happened-”

“How are you here?” Severus demanded, finally finding his voice. She looked confused.

“Well, I flooed to-”

“We thought you were kidnapped,” he said, almost accusingly.

“Oh, I was,” said Hermione, her irritation turning to pure spitfire. “Where the _hell_ is Loraina, anyway?”

“Rainey?” Remus stammered. It had taken him slightly longer to recover from his shock. There was still no blood in his face.

“What about Loraina?” Severus said coldly, angry without yet understanding why, though not at Hermione.

“She accosted me in the forest,” said the young woman, her lips twisted in outrage. “Then she tied me up and took me to the Shrieking Shack. She refused to tell me why, just that I’d be found or I’d escape soon, that I was clever enough. She didn’t even tie me all that well,” she said, showing them her chafed wrists, “though I only just managed to work my way loose. I was in that damned hovel for hours. Absolutely covered in splinters,” she grumbled. “And she cut my hair! And my bloody arm,” she added, less concerned, displaying the already-healed wound. “Bloody hurt.” They all just stared at her, slack-jawed.

“What?” she asked, apprehensively, finally taking in the state of them and the fact that they were all in Minerva’s office at the crack of dawn. “Where is she?” She looked around the room.

“Wait, where’s Harry?”

“You should know where he is,” Severus muttered dejectedly. She shook her head and looked to Remus to clarify.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Hermione?” he asked quietly as if it still hurt him that she’d kept it to herself. Her irritation finally left her and her eyes widened in understanding.

“He _hasn’t_.”

Remus nodded sadly. “To save you,” he explained.

“But I’m _right here_ ,” she scowled.

“ _We know you’re here!_ ” Severus finally exploded, having had more than he could bear of the back and forth. “ _He_ doesn’t know that, though, and he’s trying to be a _bloody_ saviour again!” 

Severus filled his lungs to bellow further about the absolute clusterfuck that was their situation, but before he could continue his tirade, Remus abruptly collapsed to the floor. The Potions Master’s fury and frustration instantly vanished, usurped by heart-stopping concern. Remus hadn’t fallen to his knees in despair, he had fallen unconscious.

Severus dropped to his side and pulled Remus’ head into his lap. He was paler than Severus had realized, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow though his skin was cool. The fact that it had been there for hours only just registered with the vampire. Remus stirred, prying open his eyes with difficulty, and saw Severus’ worried expression.

“It’s alright, Severus,” he slurred, threatening to drift out of consciousness again. “I’m simply overwhelmed. I...I just need to rest.”

“No,” said Severus shakily, taking in the size of his pupils. The light in the room continued to grow with the rising sun, but they remained blown wide.

Nausea. Weakness. Sweating. Drop in temperature. Dilated pupils.

“No this…”

“It almost looks as if he has-”

“Skirmish Sickness,” Severus said breathlessly, finishing Hermione’s thought.

She had dropped to her knees as well and was feeling Remus’ brow. The two of them shared a terrified look as she checked his pulse. It was still dim enough in the room that Severus could see it struggle. Their lack of precaution earlier had not been unnecessary, after all. Panic gripped the vampire and he buried his arm beneath Remus’ knees to lift him.

“Help me, someone,” he gasped, staggering to his feet with Remus in his arms. “Floo us to my quarters. _Quickly_.”

Minerva obliged, and the two women followed close on Severus’ heels as he carried Remus unsteadily down the stairs to his lab.

“Severus,” Hermione ventured anxiously from behind him. “He needs to go to St. Mungo’s.” The Potions Master shook his head adamantly, laying the werewolf on his cot.

“Severus, I think maybe she’s right,” Remus mumbled, seeming to finally realize how sick he actually was. He knew what Skirmish Sickness was and how serious it could be, and he looked a bit lost and vacant, as if he were suddenly staring his death in the face.

“And explain how you happened upon a curiously slow-acting form of cross toxicity?” Severus muttered, tugging his blankets up and tucking them beneath the werewolf’s chin. “I think not.”

“It wouldn’t bother me, Severus,” he frowned. “Would it really shame you to the point you’d let me die?”

The question so wounded Severus that, for a moment, he lost track of what he was doing. He cast Remus a pained look.

“It’s not about that,” he said quietly. “Loraina and I are both unregistered. If I were discovered, I would lose my position here. Without it, none of us would have access to our potions ingredients. And...there’s more than a rumour stirring about mine and Harry’s relationship. Shagging a vampire would be almost as damaging to his reputation as them discovering he was one himself.” He scowled at the werewolf.

“Besides, you are not going to die,” he said firmly. “I refuse to let you, do you understand me? The mortality rate associated with cross infection is mostly due to the speed and severity of onset, not the symptoms themselves,” he explained, regaining his focus and forcing himself to his feet to rummage through his ingredient shelves, pulling down several jars and setting them on a workbench. “That is in our favour. If this was a typical case, you’d have been unconscious hours ago.” He cast about for a scrap of parchment and a quill, scratching down a list for the Matron of Hogwarts. “It is an unconventional accidental infection with slower and milder symptoms. I can treat you,” Severus said, straightening and looking him in the eye.

“Remus, I will not let you die,” he vowed.

The werewolf nodded but still seemed troubled.

“Perhaps I can’t go to St. Mungo’s. But Severus,” he said softly, as if it pained him to do so, “you should be following Harry.”

Severus simply stared at him for a moment, his heart called in separate directions. He hadn’t exactly forgotten about the young man and the peril he was in, but Remus was here before him now and in just as dire a need. _More_ dire, in fact.

“It’s okay,” Remus whispered, sounding increasingly fatalistic. “I know you want to go after him. And you should.” He looked the vampire in the eyes. The fear bled from Remus' as the werewolf seemed to achieve some kind of acceptance.

“You chase your happiness where you can find it, Severus,” he said as firmly as his condition would allow. “You deserve it.”

As if Remus deserved to die for the sake of that happiness. As if Severus could ever truly be happy if it came at this cost.

“It’s something that he invited,” Severus said finally, swallowing his longing. “As you said, Harry is an adult. I fully intend to bring him home as soon as we know for certain where in fuck he’s gone,” he growled. “But I do not believe him so fragile that he cannot see to himself until we sort this,” he said, having made up his mind. He moved determinedly around the workbench and toward his elixir cabinet.

“Severus-”

“I’m not going to abandon you, Remus!” he practically shouted, stopping abruptly to glare at the man until he accepted it. Severus would have no more of this 'opening one’s arms to death and sending Severus off with his blessing' nonsense.

“You aren’t going to fucking die, so wipe that pitiful look from your face and concentrate on recovering. Because the sooner you’re better, the sooner we can go muzzle our fucking short sighted, irresponsible, _impulsive…_ ”

Severus literally bit his tongue, because far too many additional adjectives sprang to mind, and they didn’t have time for him to list them all. He hadn’t been so truly annoyed with Harry in years. Confident there would be no further argument, Severus summoned Hermione.

“I need you to go to the infirmary. Rouse Poppy. I need everything from this list. Fast as you can.”

She nodded but looked tempted to argue. She was white as a sheet and kept casting panicked glances to Remus. The glare he’d silenced the werewolf with was still fixed to Severus’ expression, and Hermione held back her objections and rushed toward the stair with Severus’ request to Madam Pomfrey.

Severus yanked open his elixir cabinet, pulled down a phial of Wideye Potion, and tossed it back. It was like putting a plaster on a severed limb, but it would have to serve. He felt his head clear marginally, the concoction boosting his already surging adrenaline by the smallest amount. It would soon be completely fatigued, but not before he did what he needed to do.

Severus plucked a few more bottles from the case before closing it, pouring them in measured amounts into a flask with a few of the ingredients from his shelves. He shook and strained it like a cocktail into a small beaker and carried to an ailing Remus. He perched on the edge of the cot.

“Here,” he said, his temper having cooled considerably. “Drink this, Dear.” He helped the werewolf to wrap his fingers around the glass, but Remus made no move to obey. Severus found the man staring at him, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” he frowned. Remus shook his head, unable to speak for a moment.

“You called me Dear,” he said, moved enough that it was almost inaudible. Severus felt his cheeks warm. He’d not noticed.

“ _Well_ ,” he whispered, self-conscious. “You are dear to me,” he admitted.

Remus gathered Severus’ fingers in his weaker ones and lifted the vampire’s hand to his lips, and Severus felt compelled to bend and replace it with his own. But they had an audience, and so he gently reclaimed his hand and slipped it behind Remus’ head to help him lift it, bringing the beaker of medicine to Remus’ lips instead.

“You need to rest now,” he told the werewolf. Remus had no choice but to obey this time. Severus had dosed him with, among other things, Dreamless Sleep. Almost immediately, Remus’ eyes closed as he slipped into untroubled slumber, and Severus’ heart gave a pang, hoping to all the gods those eyes would indeed open again once more.

Certain he was sleeping soundly, Severus rose swiftly from the cot and turned to his workbench to begin the distillation he’d need to treat the werewolf, but he came face-to-face with Minerva. She stared at him expectantly. So much had happened so quickly, they’d not gotten a chance to finish explaining the situation. There wasn’t strictly time to go into it, but there wasn’t really time to put it off, either.

Severus opened his mouth to address her when Hermione flitted down the stairs with her arms full of Severus’ order, plus, unexpectedly, the Matron who’d filled it. Poppy swept past him without a word to examine Remus. The vampire let her, deciding his conversation with the Headmistress could wait before striding over to Hermione. The young woman was visibly shaken, still gripped by the fear that Severus had just set aside.

“I apologize,” he told her, lifting the items from her hands and transferring them to the tabletop with the other components. “You’ve had a trying night, been abducted and assaulted, and all I did was shout at you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, her expression miserable as she looked up at him, but her eyes filled with tears and she seemed to discard what she’d been about to say.

“It’s all gotten wretchedly out of hand,” she said instead, swiping at her cheeks. He patted her awkwardly on the arm, but he didn’t have time to pet her. He had work to do. Severus turned to begin setting up his equipment, and Hermione was quick to help, expediting the process enormously.

“Minerva, help me move him to the infirmary, won’t you?” Severus heard Poppy say just as he finished setting everything to brew and took a step back. He scowled over at the two women as one conjured a gurney and the other performed a levitation spell on his sleeping companion.

“He’d be more comfortable in his own bed,” Severus objected, sweeping over.

Poppy gave him a restrained but scolding look. “I cannot tend to him from Grimmauld Place,” she said, politely exasperated.

“ _I_ shall tend to him,” Severus countered with a frown, almost certain that should be obvious.

“Severus,” she argued, reaching for patience, “you are not a healer.”

Severus’ brow creased further. “Do you object to my planned course of treatment?” he demanded, gesturing to the medicine starting to percolate on the table behind them. “Is there anything you would like to add to it that I cannot administer?”

Poppy glanced at the contraption, her lips pursed, and huffed out a sigh. Before she could answer, however, Severus dismissed her completely and turned to pluck a still-hovering Remus from the air, trudging stubbornly toward the stair with him.

“For pity’s sake, Severus. I’m not trying to keep him from you,” Pomfrey fussed, bobbing up beside him as though to supervise.

“Good. Because you shan't,” said Severus flatly. The Wideye Potion was wearing off more and more quickly with each step he climbed, though, and he wasn’t confident in his ability to make it to Grimmauld Place before his body failed him completely.

Severus heard a levitation spell being whispered behind him and Remus’ weight evaporated. He turned to see Hermione with her wand raised. She gave him a sheepish look as she tugged the gurney with her to where Severus stood staring at her, open-mouthed, as he absorbed her betrayal.

“I’ll help you,” she said quietly when she reached him, and Severus heaved a sigh of relief. Together, they settled the werewolf onto the floating gurney.

Grimmauld Place was still dripping, but Severus didn’t have it in him to worry about it. Damages could be repaired. Later. By someone else. Severus only had the capacity to worry about the man he guided up the squelching stairs. Before they laid him in bed, Severus pulled the shredded dressing gown from Remus' shoulders. He reached to do the same with the man’s ruined trousers but cast a sudden look to Hermione, feeling a foolish but stubborn jealousy. She was already seeing more of the werewolf than Severus was comfortable with.

She seemed to understand his pause and politely turned around as Severus finished stripping Remus and settled him gently into bed, not turning back until Severus had carefully tucked the bedsheets around him.

“What do we do now?’ she asked. Severus shook his head. Saying it aloud made it all the more frustrating.

“There isn’t much more we _can_ do at the moment. The garlic distillation I’ve started will take a few hours. I’ve given him potions to treat his individual symptoms, but they will need to be re-administered when next he wakes. Perhaps before then. They can be given intravenously if necessary. Beyond that, we simply must wait until the infection runs its course. The werewolf strain in his blood should overpower and obliterate the invading vampire virus eventually. But the two are at war for the moment, and all we can do is maintain the battlefield.”

“And why,” Minerva asked critically, “are they at war within him?” Severus blinked at her. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room. Nor Poppy.

Wonderful. He had a full audience.

Severus' cheeks flushed crimson. “It’s a long story,” he hedged. “And unimportant.”

“The two of you didn’t get into a scuffle?”

“With each other? No,” he said, shaking his head and dropping to a seat on the bed, reaching absently to lay a hand on the sleeping man beside him.

“With some other vampire, then?” she pressed. “Loraina?”

“There was no scuffle,” he sighed.

“But Severus,” she argued, growing frustrated, “ _why_ are the two of you so battered? And why is Remus so ill? From whom did this cross infection come?”

Severus found it difficult to meet the Headmistress’ eye. “It isn’t the result of _hostilities_ , I’ll say that,” he muttered.

The three women shared a look, and Severus’ blush was suddenly contagious.

“Oh!” Minerva stammered. “But I thought Harry wasn’t infectious,” she persisted in a hushed voice as if afraid to be overheard by polite company. _Gods_ , Severus thought the heat in his face might cause blisters soon.

“ _He_ isn’t,” he told her even more quietly through clenched teeth, his eyes firmly glued to the floor. The Headmistress tsked.

“ _Really_ , Severus,” she said, flustered. “This relationship all of you have is positively labyrinthine,” she muttered, rearranging her shawl for no discernable reason.

“It really isn’t anyone’s concern,” he grumbled bitterly.

“Except when it is,” she huffed back. “Remus is critically ill, but apparently we can’t take him for proper medical treatment because then we’d have to explain that he had unprotected physical relations with an unregistered vampire in Hogwarts' employ,” she groused. “Stop making it my concern and I’ll gladly stop _being_ concerned. And where in _Merlin’s name_ is Harry?”

Severus rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It felt this night would never end. There was so much that needed to be done, and Severus didn’t have the energy for any of it, not even to explain it.

“There isn’t much I can tell you.” 

“That you can, or that you will?” Minerva asked, her eyebrow arched. Severus threw her an annoyed glance but ignored the comment.

“Loraina, we learned tonight, has convinced Harry to hunt down his attackers with her. She’d been trying to recruit him for a while, it seems, but he’d had second thoughts; had agreed but then had changed his mind about it. And so she apparently staged Hermione’s abduction as a ruse in order to change it back,” he explained.

The young woman in question looked suddenly guilt-ridden, but being used as an unwilling pawn in Loraina’s schemes was hardly her fault. He gave her a forgiving look, regardless.

“They set off this evening,” he went on. “Or...last night. Whichever. They are gone,” he finished miserably, laying his head in his hands.

“Well, that certainly explains it,” Minerva muttered with a troubled frown.

“Explains what?”

“Kingsley summoned me to discuss an urgent development in the wee hours. He did not want to do so via floo and could not leave the Ministry, so I met him there,” she told him. “The gang out of Moribund’s was decimated last night.”

The news wasn’t particularly surprising, but it was nonetheless upsetting. Severus was exhausted to the bottom of his very soul, and he must have looked it, because he felt Minerva offer a rare gesture of comfort. 

“There was no suspicion of Harry’s involvement that I could ascertain,” she assured him, laying her fingertips on his shoulder. “That information is entirely new.”

“Let us hope there remains none,” Severus sighed.

“And you and Remus had nothing to do with it?” she ventured carefully, eyeing the blood-stained tears in his meagre clothing. She didn’t seem critical, just curious.

“No. We were here, trying to discover where he’d gone.”

“And that involved my Pensieve?” she asked, seeming far more disapproving of the trespass than of possible mass murder.

Severus merely glared at her as if warning her not to dig further. There was no way in all of Hades he’d be allowing anyone else to view the memories Harry had left behind. She seemed disgruntled, but mildly so, and did not pursue it.

“I suppose I shall contact Kingsley, then,” she muttered in surrender.

“ _Only_ Kingsley, Minerva, please,” he asked. “The situation is delicate, but I really can’t go into it just now,” he murmured. He swayed where he sat. His exhaustion was catching up with him fast, and he was fading.

“You have a lie-down, Severus,” she told him, sounding surprisingly kindly as she patted him on the back. “We’ll all discuss what’s to be done once you’ve rested.”

“I can’t rest,” he objected, even as his eyes attempted to slide to a close. “Remus has to be monitored.”

“The infirmary is empty,” Poppy said, stepping forward. Her expression was far less scolding than it had been in the lab. “I can sit with him for a time while you get some sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s a change.”

Severus looked at her, torn between protest and gratitude.

“And I’ll help,” Hermione was quick to add. She was still anxious, still seemed to feel she needed to compensate for her role in the night’s events.

Severus couldn’t argue. He could barely remain conscious. Finally, he nodded his acceptance, but there was no way he’d manage to make his way downstairs and to his own quarters. He only just managed to stumble his way around to the other side of Remus’ bed to collapse into it, falling instantly into sleep at the werewolf’s side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severus: Grr. MY werewolf. *spit*hiss* No touchy touchy.  
> <3


	54. Hold Thee Dearly

**Remus**

He didn’t feel pain, only weakness. And cold. For a werewolf, so used to the fiery metabolism which fueled their monthly healing, the chill in his bones was insidious. Yet, the sweat seemed to pour from him, despite his lack of fever, and it chilled him even further.

Thankfully, he wasn’t often awake. When he was, Severus was there--at first in rags and then in crisp clean robes--often laying beside him, sometimes holding his hand. He looked so concerned, it pained Remus, and the werewolf tried to speak to him to comfort him, but no words ever seemed to escape.

Occasionally, he was aware of others talking, usually to one another; though a few times, Remus realized Severus spoke quietly to him when they were alone. When next he woke, Remus would try to recapture those words, but he never could. There was only a sense that what had been said was important and personal, things that perhaps the vampire had always wished to speak to another but could not bring himself to say. Remus hoped Severus would repeat them when he was well enough to listen.

He didn’t know how many days had passed, but Remus woke finally, clearer-headed than he had been in what felt like ages. “Severus?” He struggled to focus on the figure seated beside him. When it resolved itself, however, it was not the Potions Master. Hermione quickly set aside the book she’d been reading.

“How are you?” she asked, leaning forward to rest her hand over his. It was a bigger question than he had strength to answer. She seemed stricken as she looked at him but also heartened by his lucidity, and though his waking seemed a surprise to her, Remus smelled broth close at hand. The young woman turned hopefully to pluck it from the side table.

“Do you think you could take some, Remus?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. He attempted to sit up but found he was too weak to do much more than slide his hand across the top of his blanket.

“Wait, Remus. Let us help,” she rushed to offer, setting the bowl back down. “ _Severus_. Severus, he’s awake.”

The vampire was there, after all, slumped in the chair at the writing desk. The House Elf that hung over it, though, was missing. Severus stirred, locked eyes with Remus, and was almost instantly on his feet. Together with Hermione, he managed to work an additional pillow beneath the werewolf, lifting him enough that the young woman could spoon a beefy liquid into Remus’ mouth without choking him. To everyone’s surprise, including his own, he managed to finish the bowl, and when he requested more, he half expected Hermione to burst into tears. She nodded and hurried from the room to warm another for him.

Hungry as Remus was, he wasn’t certain he would manage to stay upright long enough to drink it. Though he’d done little more than lay and swallow, he was exhausted. Without the distraction of food, Remus turned his attention to Severus. Well, to finding Severus. Once Remus had been propped into place, the vampire seemed to have disappeared. Remus found him leaning against the far wall, regarding him with a concerned but hopeful expression.

The werewolf felt his distance to be unbearable. It seemed the time for whispered words and comfortable weight beside him on the bed was over now that Remus was awake. He wondered if Severus knew that those things, more than the medicine they administered, were responsible for Remus’ recovery. Without them now, he felt like giving in to the weakness in his bones, like slipping back into oblivion. He was almost too tired to beckon to him.

“Please.”

He didn’t have the breath for much more, could not articulate his plea further.

Severus’ brow furrowed and he pushed himself away from the wall.

“Please, what, Remus?” he asked softly.

“I need.” Each word was quieter than the last. Severus drew close to the bed and crouched beside it.

“What do you need?” His tone was patient, but his expression was anxious as he waited to hear the werewolf’s request.

“ _You_.”

It was barely a whisper, but it seemed to take Severus’ breath to hear it. Remus opened his hand to him, hoping the vampire would look to see it, as he could no longer move anything but his fingers. He was fading. Severus’ touch, however, as he gathered Remus’ hand in his own, helped energize the werewolf; as did the palm laid gently on Remus’ cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Severus whispered, anguished to see him slipping away again. But Remus couldn’t argue that they both were to blame for Remus’ condition, had both lacked foresight and should have known better. He couldn’t tell Severus that he would not have taken back their night together for all the world, despite this outcome. Remus could only drift back into sleep, feeling warmer under the vampire’s icy touch than he had in days.

_Don't be gone so long this time, Remus. I need you, too. I can't face all this alone._

Remus didn’t think he’d dreamed it, and it was far more sustaining than the broth he didn’t get to drink.

  
  
  
  
  



	55. Let Her Rest in Her Unrest Awhile

**Severus**

Hermione appeared in the doorway with a steaming bowl of broth but stopped short on seeing Severus kneeling beside the bed with Remus’ hand held in his own and tears standing in his eyes. Severus swiped at his face as he stood, but the young woman had already seen him in several more emotional states than most were allowed. It seemed an unnecessary waste of energy to pull back up his mask. He looked at the bowl she held and shook his head sadly. Hermione very nearly dropped it as her hand flew to her mouth.

“He’s _not…_ ”

“No, no,” Severus assured her, stepping forward to take the sloshing liquid from her trembling hand. “I only meant that he’s not awake any longer and won’t be needing this,” he said, setting it carefully aside. “It’s alright. He’s merely sleeping.”

Hermione released a sob. It sounded more from pain than relief, and he helped her to a seat where she cried openly. Severus hovered at her side, not quite sure what to do about it. She had barely slept since Remus fell ill. She watched him closely during her shifts as if willing him well, and she spent her time away from his bedside fretting over Harry’s absence and the news trickling in from Kingsley. The stress seemed to have caught up with her.

“For a moment I was almost certain you were telling me he’d gone. They do that sometimes,” she said as if to herself, bunching the hem of her shirt in her hands. “When my grandmother fell ill, she woke only once before she passed on. It was like she was saying goodbye. If Remus had died, I...I’d never have been able to forgive myself,” she wept.

She’d shouldered so much guilt over Remus’ condition, it was almost baffling. Her abduction, which she’d really had no say in, had had no bearing on the situation that caused Remus’ illness. And even if she’d confessed Harry’s plans to them sooner, it was very likely things would have transpired in just this way eventually, regardless.

If anyone was to blame, it was Severus. He’d been berating himself for days for not having considered the consequences of their interaction. Of course, he’d had no thought of being with the man at all until the moment it had actually occurred. Remus had been the one, apparently, scheming to make it a reality, and Severus was more than a little peeved at the man that, in all his contemplation of it, this complication never occurred to him. Still, Severus was well familiar with the panicked self-condemnation he saw in Hermione’s eyes. He knelt beside her and patted her arm. It was awkward but appeared to be appreciated. Though, her small smile seemed to excuse him from further efforts, and so he withdrew to perch on the edge of Remus’ bed.

“It must have been difficult,” she said, pulling herself together. Severus gave her a questioning look. “Watching Harry be so sick for so long,” she clarified. “I’m sorry, Severus,” she whispered with an aching sympathy. “I know I couldn’t have done it myself,” she confessed in a small voice, picking at the stitching on her skirt. “Knowing the ones we love are in pain is one thing, but seeing it…” She glanced to Remus and shuddered.

Severus took a deep, steadying breath, as remembering that anguish had stolen the one already in his lungs.

“Remus will be alright now,” he told her. His own anxiety over the man’s condition had disappeared along with the broth Remus had devoured. “A dying man wouldn’t have been so hungry,” he said with the faintest reassuring smile.

Still, he looked over at Remus as if to confirm he was indeed breathing. It was habit at this point. The man’s position seemed uncomfortable to Severus, still propped upright on extra pillows even though Remus slept. He reached to gently remove them.

“I never thought I’d ever see the two of you show anything more tender toward each other than forced civility,” Hermione said wonderingly as she watched.

Severus didn’t bother to blush. After he’d possessively squirrelled the man away--and also confessed the cause of his current condition--there seemed little sense in hiding his affection for the werewolf.

“Nor I,” he admitted quietly. “I suppose hearts change.”

He’d rather resented it when Harry had first changed his. He hadn’t liked being reminded that he had one, much less being made suddenly slave to it. But this was different, somehow. It had been just as involuntary, but loving Remus felt less like burden and more like liberation. The two men met each other on more common ground than they did with Harry. Severus didn’t have to save Remus from himself. Rather, it was the other way around.

“That’s what I’ve always hoped,” Hermione said after a moment as if she hadn’t been able to help herself. There was an urgency to her tone, and Severus looked up at her inquiringly.

“Katie and I,” she began with a blush that hinted at shame, though Hermione seemed the last person Severus would suspect of being embarrassed by such a relationship, “that’s one of the things that drew us together, our belief that hearts can change. That the marginalized could be brought into the fold. That differences could be embraced. She wants to defend the oppressed against the laws that oppress them. And...I wanted to change those laws,” she said sadly. Though it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have an opportunity. Harry’s incident might be delaying her studies, but the situation couldn’t persist forever. “First, though, the public has to have a change of heart. Progress always starts with the people.”  

“Yes, well,” he shrugged, absently smoothing Remus’ blankets. “General attitudes are slightly more difficult to sway. It isn’t as if I have a sudden and abiding penchant for werewolves now,” he muttered.

“Yes, but your attitude toward this one changed,” she pressed. “Almost completely. Because he’s familiar to you. He’s not just any werewolf, he’s Remus.” She was being almost argumentative, and he wasn’t certain he understood why. Severus’ brow furrowed.

“I might point out that it took quite a bit to change it.”

“Something extreme,” she nodded. “That’s how it seems to work. People can be opposed to something their whole life, but when someone close to them is affected, it shifts something in them. When children come out to their parents, when friends fall ill, it becomes personal. Empathy is easier with those we know.”

“I suppose,” he said. He wasn’t convinced they were still discussing him and Remus.

“It was Harry, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“What was Harry?”

“The thing that brought you together.”

Severus regarded her uncertainly. Harry’s incident had certainly brought them together, but mostly in terms of forced proximity. Which, of course, began his softening toward the werewolf. But it was their soul-stripping experience with the Pensieve that was responsible for this present tenderness. Without it, the tentative connection they’d established in Harry’s bed might have fallen apart completely in the light of morning.

Something about their conversation unsettled Severus. He didn’t necessarily disagree with anything she’d said, but her eagerness for him to confirm her conclusions with their example made him uncomfortable. He supposed the situation had simply shaken them all, left them grasping. Hermione’s ideology was her rock. Her commitment to advocacy was what kept her grounded, and he couldn’t say he didn’t feel the need for something to cling to himself at the moment.

“It wasn’t as straightforward as all that, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Our empathy might not have been so immediate or so complete without engaging in activities decidedly not recommended for the general public.”

He couldn’t quite decide if it was wise to divulge what those activities were. Hermione was as sharp as anyone he’d ever met, but her recent judgement had proven questionable. Not that Severus had any room to criticize in that regard he thought to himself, glancing again to his unconscious companion. He sighed, finally buckling to the confused inquiry in Hermione's eyes.

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming about all that happened the night Harry disappeared. Because the particulars are of absolutely no consequence to finding a solution to our present difficulties,” he told her, almost talking himself out of the admission. “Remus and I did slightly more then than view a handful of Harry’s memories in the Pensieve.”

Hermione’s cheeks coloured and she glanced at their ill friend and then away from them both.

“I didn’t mean those kinds of activities,” he stammered. “Well. _Clearly,_ that occurred,” he conceded, flustered, “but I was referring to what happened afterward.”

“Which was?” she prompted when he went quiet.

He wasn’t in the habit of divulging such intimate details about himself, but her understanding of the situation seemed dangerously simplistic. She’d earned his respect in helping him work out Harry’s reprieve, however. Enough of it that he felt compelled to sacrifice some of his privacy in order to insert some nuance into her philosophy. He didn’t consider her naive, per se. He simply sometimes forgot how very young she and Harry were, and how much they could benefit from his experience if only he could bring himself to share it with them.

The problem was, he’d never really been the mentoring type. That kind of thing was Remus’ forte, not his.

“Truly seeing things from another’s perspective is a mental exercise at which few excel,” he began, struggling to find the words for what he was trying to convey. “It is not something I’m in the habit of myself, I confess. And even the most open-minded of people do not often experience a sea change merely through exposure. Outside of the Order, I will always be reviled as a Death Eater by those staunchly opposed to Voldemort, no matter my true role in the war. By the most vehement of those, I will be accused of opportunism, at best. We all have our prejudices, for good or ill, and none of them is easily shifted. Remus and I are no exceptions. We had to actually become one another for a moment in order to reach the proper understanding.”

“Become one another? What, through Polyjuice?” she asked. By her expression, she seemed to be considering what bizarre kinks they must engage in. Her overhearing his and Harry’s reunion couldn’t have helped her perception of their appetites. He never imagined so many people would--or would be given reason to--contemplate his sex life. Severus sighed.

“Looking like another does not bestow the context of their past, does not reveal the progression of reasoning behind their actions. Do you know why the Pensieve was created?”

“In order to view the memories of another,” she shrugged, disconcerted by the seeming shift in subject. Severus shook his head.

“It was created in order to view them _safely_. One does not require it. There is a way to experience someone else’s past as if it were one’s own. That is what Remus and I did. It was something Harry and Loraina engaged in, as well. Though, the process can be painful and is detrimental if repeated often.”

Hermione leaned forward, instantly fascinated. “How? How is it done?”

Severus winced. This knowledge had very nearly died, as perhaps it should have. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help feeling he’d just set a bloodhound on the trail.

“Hermione, I cannot stress enough that this is not knowledge meant for general consumption and not an activity I recommend. It can lead to madness.”

“Of course. I understand,” she agreed a bit too readily. He doubted she would let the matter rest. It was his own fault for teasing her with it, he supposed.

“It’s straightforward enough. Rather than depositing the memory in the Pensieve, one inserts it into their own mind instead. Though, you have to be careful not to release it there. I honestly don’t know what might happen should that occur.” He held out no hope whatsoever that she would refrain from testing this new knowledge and felt he should issue that warning, just in case.

She sat back to contemplate what she’d been told, her eyes dancing with the possibilities, and Severus was almost certain he’d made a mistake.

“So what is conveyed, exactly?” she asked him. “Just the moment in question from that person’s perspective?”

“It’s more of a snapshot of the person. It carries with it their thoughts and feelings at the time, which can reveal previous experiences, as well. If they are remembering their past, you glimpse that also,” he explained, his heart sinking as he ‘remembered’ Remus’ troubled encounters with a man he had not named, even in his own thoughts, as if he had been the werewolf’s personal Dark Lord. The bastard hadn’t even had a face that Severus could recall. Remus had succeeded in scraping it from his consciousness, leaving him with only the memory of the man’s touch and his voice and the jumbled sense of shame and arousal, guilt and confusion that they had invoked; things Remus could never repress entirely, though he seemed to have tried.

He noticed Hermione’s attention and pulled himself from Remus’ darkness. She could tell that Severus had been gripped by some remembered pain and seemed sympathetic but pensive.

“What did you show each other?” she wondered aloud. 

It was too bold, and Severus scowled at her. Of course, she wanted to know exactly what it took to turn enemies into lovers. It was a fair curiosity but highly personal. Though she appeared to understand his affront, she did not retract her question or divert her attention.

“I saw the night he left Hogwarts,” he admitted finally. He decided not to supply that Remus had not shared the memory of his own volition. “I showed him my time in the Malfoys’ dungeon.”

Her eyes grew wide, then thoughtful. “But you were there for days,” she argued after a moment.

“Doesn’t matter. Once a memory has touched your mind, it becomes yours in its entirety. You can gain days in an instant.”

She nodded, chewing on this new information. “Thank you, Severus,” she said, tucking her knees beneath her chin. She was watching Remus sleep but not really seeing him. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”

Severus was relieved. As wholehearted as her convictions were, she appreciated subtlety far better than Harry. Perhaps he made a decent mentor, after all. He only hoped he wouldn’t be called on to act as one very often.


	56. For I Must Talk of Murders, Rapes and Massacres

**Severus**

They congregated in the kitchen, and those who could took tea and biscuits. Minerva had business elsewhere, so it was just the three of them. The distance chafed Severus, but he knew Remus would be fine by himself for a while. He’d woken twice more and eaten something solid the last time he did. His colour and strength were returning, as were his good spirits. The only thing that dampened them now was Harry’s continued absence.

“The full moon is in two day’s time,” Kingsley pointed out, settling in at the table with his cuppa. He was understandably exhausted, and his presence was rare and appreciated. It wasn’t easy for him to get away. Hermione nudged a plate of jammie dodgers toward him and he took one with a grateful tip of his head.  

“That will be good,” Severus said, nodding to himself. “It may sound counter-intuitive, but the moon will help heal Remus. The burst of magical energy will give him strength and will embolden his werewolf infection enough to finally eradicate the vampire virus from his system completely, when it is as its weakest.”

“While I sincerely look forward to Remus’ recovery,” said Kingsley with a sigh, “we have a Bloodwolf on the loose somewhere.”

Severus cursed under his breath. He had been so preoccupied with Remus he’d all but forgotten about the Full affecting Harry as well. The young man had consumed his almost every waking thought for as long as the vampire could remember, and Severus was subtly ashamed the matter had slipped his mind. Though, he couldn’t help but think that Harry would have been just as distracted by Remus’ condition. If he knew of it, surely he’d come home to them, but there was no way of getting that information to him.

“He took the potion I brewed with him,” said Severus. Though the knowledge brought none of them much comfort.

“Do we know how well it works?”

“No,” Severus admitted. “If at all.”

“Do you think he’d come to the Shack?” Hermione ventured. She’d been unusually subdued since their conversation the day before, and she didn’t seem entirely focused now. Severus shook his head.

“Loraina wouldn’t allow his coming so close to home. He’d be too tempted to give us some sign that he’s well. She can’t risk him actually speaking to any of us. She knows her hold on him is tenuous. Also, they might suspect we’d have warded it to alert us of trespass; which isn’t a terrible idea, just in case. But Loraina will have anticipated this,” he reasoned confidently. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him running loose or losing control. She’ll have means to contain him. She always seems to have means for things,” he sighed, leaning to rest against the counter behind him.

“She’ll have prepared for half a dozen possible scenarios, and a handful of others besides she doesn’t seriously expect to come to pass. Unless they are no longer at liberty,” he added as an uncomfortable afterthought. “Though, if they are in enemy hands during the Full, gods help their enemies.”

“There’s reason to believe they are not,” said Kingsley, finishing his tea. Sharing the news didn’t seem to cheer him. Hermione slipped from her chair to pour him another cup of tea as he elaborated. “We’ve received word that another body was found this morning.”

They all shared a slightly embarrassed look. Bodies were clues, and as such were almost hopeful signs. While none of them wanted to outright condone the act of murder, as Kingsley himself had pointed out when they had first apprised him of the situation, one could hardly blame the young man.

“We were both there, Severus,” he’d said, though in hushed tones. “You saw what the savages did to him. Not to mention they killed a damned fine man in Grayson. You know as well as I do the people he’s after can never be rehabilitated. My conscience is not overly troubled knowing he was behind Moribund’s. We’ve been cleaning up the aftermath of their handiwork for years. The world is a better place without them in it.”

Today’s Kingsley didn’t seem to have changed his attitude toward the whole affair. He seemed bothered by the increasing risk to Harry’s safety far more than the heinousness of his crimes.

“Since the initial massacre, bodies have been turning up singly, but in no discernable pattern,” he explained to them. “The only thing that links them is either their political views--namely that they are Pureblood extremists--or their connection to the illicit potions trade. There have been calls to put a watch on any Witch or Wizard with an IP arrest on record, but thankfully we haven’t the resources or the manpower for that. The general attitude around the office has been that this mystery assailant is doing us a favour and should be left to take out the trash,” he confided with a shrug. Hermione didn’t even raise an eyebrow. At least they weren’t the only ones who seemed to be morally bankrupt.

“The situation is getting more complicated by the day, however,” he went on, frowning into his fresh cup of tea. “The victim found earlier was a Ministry informant, and that’s made some in the department uncomfortable. Honestly, the Aurors calling for surveillance are the ones I’ve long suspected of being crooked,” he muttered. “They have their fingers in pies they shouldn’t and are starting to sweat as more of their friends are turning up with their throats cut. There’s no proof yet that Harry is involved in any of this, and as long as we don’t look more closely, there may never be. But if they kill an Auror, Severus,” he told the man sadly, “my hands will be tied.”

“Are you implying I should be out looking for him before he gets himself killed or arrested?” Severus grumbled, pushing himself away from the counter to pace the room. “It hadn’t occurred to me,” he sniped. “Kindly tell me where to look and I’ll leave this instant. You’ve just said there’s no discernable pattern. The only link is the illicit potions trade. Should I simply go wander about random drug dens hoping Harry and Loraina will attack while I’m there?” he scowled.

“I’m merely giving you the information that I have, Severus,” said Kingsley, wearied by the man’s irritability but not particularly offended by it. “They are following a trail but destroying it behind them.”

“At least the Full will distract them for a time,” Severus sighed, settling back into place at the counter to brood. “It could buy us a few days.”

“Let us hope so,” said the Auror. “And let us hope, as well, that it won’t cause even further complications. We’ve been attributing the murders to drug wars, black market dealings gone sour. But at least one of the victims has shown clear signs of a werewolf attack.”

Hermione gasped softly and threw a pained look to Kingsley who acknowledged her concern with sad nod.

“Not many in the department are aware of this,” he assured them. “The mauling victim was but one in a crime scene littered with stabbing deaths. But if one of the singletons turns up with the same signs, there will be no hiding it. The investigation would become a wolfhunt, and it may pass out of my jurisdiction.”

“But if it becomes a wolfhunt,” Hermione said, her voice wavering, “public warnings will be issued.”

“The backlash would be swift,” Kingsley agreed. “The werewolf community will be vulnerable. Which is one of the reasons why the decision was made for the information to be kept secret in the first place. Not that there is much love in the department for Dark Creatures, but they’d be loath to have to hand this over to another office. If they are sloppy again, though,” he said, referring to Loraina and Harry, “things could turn very ugly very quickly. Frankly, we’re already bracing for an increase in hate crimes in the event that should happen.”

The mood in the room grew heavy, and they all took a moment to nurse their tea and anxiety respectively. They were one mangled corpse away from a complete shit show, as far as Severus could tell. A sinking sense of foreboding pulled him to a seat in one of the unoccupied chairs around the kitchen table. As dejected as he felt, Hermione looked positively terrified.

“The Riding Hood Bill could pass,” she whispered, as if the horror of such a thing forbade raised voices.

“And if it does,” Kingsley grunted, “I’m resigning.”

The contemplation of it pulled the Auror’s usually jovial expression into a disgruntled scowl, and Hermione looked to be almost in tears with dread.

“What?” Severus asked, looking from one to the other. “What is the Riding Hood Bill?”

Kingsley looked over at him in surprise. “You need to get out of the dungeon more often, my friend,” he scoffed. Severus frowned at him. Be that as it may, he hadn’t left it in quite some time and had no idea what they were referring to or why it would so upset them. “Forced relocation of all registered werewolves,” Kingsley explained finally. Perhaps he thought Hermione would have taken up this baton, but she was lost in her own troubled thoughts. “They’ve been trying to pass the bill in one form or another since the Dogtown riots. Burning their slums to the ground seemed to please an awful lot of people until they realized the survivors would then be scattered throughout the general population. The first incarnations called for all registered wolves to be required to wear some sort of distinguishing accessory.”

“What? Like a yellow badge?” Severus interjected sardonically. The parallel was blatant enough to be almost ridiculous. But then, bigots are often bigots precisely because they are unable to grasp subtlety.

“Like a yellow badge,” Kingsley confirmed, so seriously that Severus’ sneer faded.

Good gods. How many wars needed to be fought before people learned? Dogtown had been a decade ago. Since then, the Wizarding World had seen and defeated the rise of one fascist overlord; did they really want to foster the conditions for another to take his place?

“The most extreme proponents have demanded full scale relocation,” Kingsley went on, “which is what is contained in the present legislation. It’s never made it past the Third Reading. But it _has_ made it to the Third Reading,” he stressed. “That was not long after the war, when killings done by werewolves under Voldemort’s sway were coming to light, and the general implication was that all werewolves were either his agents or susceptible to similar allegiances. Support has since declined, but unfortunately there’s still been enough to the bill keep alive and evolving. Harry’s misadventure may change things for the worst. Time dulls people’s fears, and there haven’t been any verifiable violent crimes committed by werewolves since the war ended. Until now. _And_ it’s an election year,” he added, eliciting a wince from Hermione. “The potential media frenzy could swing the electorate in a dangerous direction. It could become a campaign issue. The Riding Bill could pass,” he warned in an angry grumble. “And I’m not about to be a part of the enforcement.”

Hermione pulled herself from her distress. “But wouldn’t that fall to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?” she frowned.

“Any registered wolf that refuses the Ministry summons would be listed a fugitive and be under the jurisdiction of Magical Law Enforcement,” he told her. What a few minutes ago had seemed distant and absurd was gaining credulity by the moment. Severus’ growing alarm must have shown in his expression.

“No matter what happens, Remus is safe here,” Kingsley reassured him. “He’s Secret Kept. But he’d be a prisoner in Grimmauld Place. If he left it, he’d be at risk of apprehension. Though I suppose that would be better than being a prisoner in a Ministry compound.”

“You’re saying, if this bill passes, they’d try to send him to some sort of concentration camp?” Severus demanded angrily, finally finding his voice. “He’s a bloody war hero, for fuck’s sake!”

Kingsley’s expression mirrored Severus’ disgust. “He’s a werewolf,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Whatever else he is, in the eyes of the Ministry, in the eyes of the public, he is that first. They’d bay for his blood just as loudly, regardless of his service.”

“Over some mangled potion pusher?” Severus spat in indignation.

“An _uninfected_ potion pusher, Severus,” Kingsley pointed out. “It doesn’t matter how reprehensible the victim. The only person a werewolf is permitted to transgress against without it reflecting on the rest of his kind is another Dark Creature. If one kills another for position in a pack, people shrug. If a wolf is struck down unjustly by an overzealous Auror, no one bats an eye. But let a werewolf so much as bare his fangs to an uninfected Wizard, and the rabble start lighting torches.”

“You’re unregistered,” Hermione said quietly, drawing Severus’ rather disconcerted attention. “I’m not trying to dismiss your struggles with vampirism, Severus. But they’ve been private struggles. Those living openly as Dark Creatures have always understood these things.”

“And be glad you’re unregistered,” Kingsley added, “because if they manage to pass this measure, I promise you, vampires will be next on their list.”

For a moment, Severus was unable to quite wrap his mind around the absolute senselessness of prejudice. It wasn’t as if the man was a complete stranger to it. Slytherin House was rife with it. He’d been a Death Eater. He’d seen firsthand the ugly potential of ignorance distilled by fear into hatred. He understood the power of propaganda in skilled hands. But no Dark Lord orchestrated this crusade. As jaded as Severus was already, the capacity for Human Nature to disappoint apparently was limitless.

“Creature rights would be set back decades,” Hermione said, her voice small and trembling. “Harry has no idea what he’s doing to his own people,” she huffed in exasperation. “And Loraina doesn’t even _care_ ,” she added crossly. Though this was not a new development. Historically, Loraina cared about precious few besides herself, and laws had never especially concerned her, either.

“Harry could have swung public opinion in a positive direction,” she fumed, not looking at either of them, simply venting her frustration to the Universe in general. “He _could_ have filled Parliament with sympathetic representatives ready to fight for his rights as saviour turned Dark Creature by extremists through no fault of his own. He might have _advanced_ werewolf rights and now he’s threatening them!” She seemed overcome by this travesty of circumstance.

“I...I have to talk to Katie,” she said, finally breaking into tears before quickly rushing from the room.

The two men watched her go. They’d been given no opportunity to respond to the outburst. Though Severus, for one, would have been at a loss as to what to say. He was plenty upset himself. Even if no one ever linked these crimes to Harry, they might not come out of this disaster unscathed, after all. Remus’ life could be affected forever by what Harry and Loraina were doing.

Somehow, Severus felt Remus would take the development in stride. He’d been dealing with discrimination virtually his whole life. This new escalation in it wouldn’t surprise him, simply sadden him. But Harry would be devastated at having had a hand in it. He quite possibly would not regret his killing spree, but this would weigh on his conscience forever.

“Severus, do you have any ideas at all about who in hell you pissed off badly enough to set all this in motion?” Kingsley asked, waking him from these troubled thoughts.

Severus shook his head apologetically. He’d wracked his brain already and come up with nothing. He’d hurt so many.

“Let’s ask a different question, then,” Kingsley went on, patient but determined. “They obviously worked from your formula. Who else was involved with that?”

“I had a handful of assistants,” Severus shrugged, reaching for their names and faces but recalling nothing definite. All of the Dark Lord’s followers had seemed the same to him, blindly obedient and disturbingly fanatical. They became faceless and interchangeable to Severus as the war dragged on. He’d only had the capacity to concern himself with so many details, and who stirred Voldemort’s cauldrons hadn’t seemed consequential at the time. 

“I admit to not paying any of them much attention. Most of them worked to supervise Audentia production with a number of House Elves. There were a couple who were more promising who most often helped with special projects, but they were never allowed to see the actual formula, they merely worked on separate components of it. Though, I suppose a clever enough person could extrapolate a fairly clear picture of it from just that. Unfortunately, there was no time to return for my notes after the final battle,” Severus lamented. “I never knew what became of them. Anyone could have walked away with them.”

“What would one need in order to prepare the potion? What kind of resources are we looking at?”

This was a far more promising line of inquiry, and Severus nodded to himself as he considered the potential.

“Tracing the rare ingredients might get us somewhere,” he agreed, becoming more heartened. “Though, I don’t know how far. These things are always available on the Black Market for the right price. So they will have needed to be well funded. No matter how they procured the items, they will have been expensive. And the potion was too successful to not have been tested beforehand,” he added, shivering at the thought. “They would have needed someplace private and contained to do so. Someplace near inescapable.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the rest of Severus’ train of thought was suddenly arrested, and he and Kingsley shared a thoughtful look. Though, Severus hesitated to voice exactly what it was they were thinking.

“Someplace like a dungeon?” Kingsley supplied for him, his eyebrow raised. “Possessed by someone with significant wealth?”

“Loraina seemed to believe Draco was involved,” Severus reluctantly conceded. “She hinted as much to Harry when she recruited him. But Draco’s injury left him severely disabled,” he argued.

“His injury at Harry’s hand?” Kingsley asked meaningfully.

Severus merely stared at the Auror for a moment while he turned it over in his mind. The idea did not sit well with him for some reason. It seemed far too obvious. Though perhaps Severus simply had never let go of the hope that Draco was better than his father. The Potions Master wasn’t known for his idealistic sentimentality, but he was still reluctant to accept this increasingly reasonable conclusion. 

“The Boss is female,” he pointed out stubbornly.

“Who administers the Malfoy Estate,” Kingsley persisted, “now that Draco is incapacitated and Lucius is in Azkaban?”

“I don’t believe it of Narcissa,” Severus said flatly. “She was never a Death Eater. She did not approve of Lucius’ involvement with the Dark Lord.”

“What wouldn’t a mother do for her son?”

That killed the objection on the vampire’s tongue, and Severus shifted uncomfortably. A mother’s love could be a frightening and powerful thing. Lily gave her life for Harry. Narcissa, he knew, would do the same; would kill and maim for Draco. And who wouldn’t go to extreme lengths for the ones they loved? Severus had been prepared to do as much as Harry had done already, and several times that, in order to bring him home. He was still prepared to do so. Loraina was doing what she was in some misguided crusade for Severus’ sake. As much as Severus hated to think it of them, it was not inconceivable that the Malfoys were behind all of this. He supposed it could not hurt to investigate that suspicion.

“Remus isn’t well,” Severus fretted, knowing time was short but unable to bring himself to go without him. “I can’t leave him.”

“You may not have to,” said Kingsley, pleased that Severus was coming around. “Arthur and I can visit Malfoy Manor without you.”

“If it is them, and you confront them, they will flee,” Severus cautioned. “They have the means. And if they abscond, Harry and Loraina will pursue them, and we’ll never find any of them.”

“I hadn’t planned to interrogate the Malfoys,” the Auror assured him. “But some reconnaissance may in order,” he reasoned as if to himself. “I wouldn’t be able to obtain a warrant, and anything I find while trespassing would be inadmissible; but our concern is not to bring the Malfoys to justice, it’s to protect Harry. If we could find evidence of their involvement in the dungeons, at least we’d know Harry’s eventual destination, and we could possibly intercept him. By the time we know anything for certain, perhaps Remus will be well. Or more so than now,” he amended, seeing the skepticism on Severus’ face. “The question is how to get in,” he wondered aloud, worrying his lip between his fingers. He seemed excited to finally have a plan of action and anxious to hammer out the details. “The grounds will undoubtedly be well warded.”

“The dungeons spill beyond the boundaries of the estate in places,” Severus informed him. Though he still had reservations, Kingsley’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I know of at least three entrances outside the wards, but there’s no telling if they are still passable. Besides, those tunnels are dangerous,” he warned. “Especially if they’ve been testing a bloodwolf serum there. We don’t know if the past subjects are still living, or how well the infection took. We don’t know what manner of creature could be awaiting you.”

“Arthur and I can take care of ourselves,” Kingsley said with a wave of his hand, seeming unconcerned as he rose from his seat, his movements infused with purpose. “We’re not going to fight with anyone, just to have a stealthy look around. I’ll discuss it with him and come up with a plan. In the meantime,” he said, patting the vampire on the shoulder, “you see to Remus. Don’t worry about anything else for now, least of all me. I’ll be back when I know more,” he promised, already moving through the door. “But I’m far more hopeful than when I arrived, I can tell you.”

Severus listened to him Disapparate just outside the front door, unsure what he was feeling about the overwhelming amount of information he’d just been handed. Harry hadn’t _necessarily_ set in motion state sponsored genocide. That was simply the worst case scenario. Hermione would calm down and see how distant that danger still was, he was certain. At least he hoped, as he was in no mood to try and comfort her over it. It was still possible things would work out. They had more of a lead now than they’d had yet, if only their friends could manage not to get killed while following it.

It was all out of his hands, though. In the end, Severus decided to do as he’d been instructed and not dwell on any of it. He’d been given express permission to devote all of his attention to Remus, and he decided to indulge in it. He would very likely have done so, regardless, but now he was determined not to feel guilty for it. With a sigh, Severus pulled himself to his feet and then up the stairs, with no thoughts beyond listening to the cadence of Remus’ breath in sleep and rewarming the empty side of the werewolf’s mattress.

 


	57. Each Wreathed in the Other's Arms

**Remus**

Whatever Severus added to his bathwater water leached the soreness from Remus’ limbs and the last of the ache from his bones. He felt truly warm for the first time in an age, and after he scrubbed the stale sweat from his skin, he sat and soaked for what seemed like forever.

Harder to purge was the ache of his heart. He’d been caught up on news of their wayward lover. Despite the distance, Remus could sense his Mate was whole; but the same bond that told Remus so must have also alerted the young man to his Alpha’s brush with near death, and it hurt his feelings more than a little that Harry hadn’t returned. His presence would have helped Remus heal. Fortunately, Severus’ love stood substitute.

The vampire might be reluctant to call it that, but that didn’t make it any less true or less cherished. Remembering Severus' constant presence at his sickbed warmed Remus as much as his bathwater, and he very much looked forward to showing Severus his appreciation. He was still far weaker than he had been before his illness, but his strength was returning at a gallop.

This was the first time in his life the Full had actually made him feel better the morning after, and Harry’s indifference notwithstanding, it allowed little room in Remus for anything but hope. He emerged from the steaming bathroom in his towel, feeling bright and fresh and new. There had been a moment, at the height of his illness, when he couldn’t recall what health felt like and couldn’t imagine ever being well again. Now, he had to actively remind himself that he was not yet fully recovered and to not overexert himself.

That dictate was promptly forgotten when the werewolf stepped into his room to find Severus spilled across his bed, asleep. The man had kept vigil on the landing all night, and though he was naturally nocturnal, the sun was now high. Remus quietly closed his door, debating for only a moment before slipping the lock into place.

For a while, Remus simply leaned against the wood at his back and took in the sight, assuring himself it was indeed real and not his wildest imagination. Severus seemed so very vulnerable, and Remus felt a bit like the Big Bad Wolf, moving toward the bed with careful, predatory steps. He would very much like to eat the man up. But of course, only with Severus’ permission.

Remus shed his towel but did not slip between his newly changed sheets. Severus was stretched out atop them, and so Remus did the same. He lay close enough to taste Severus’ cool breath as it puffed gently from between his barely parted lips as he slept.

Being a creature who consumed nothing but a daily potion, it was clean and sweet. In fact, Remus had noticed of Harry that vampires tended to be clean all the way through, with no need of the typical preparation a man might make before being with another man. It was wonderfully convenient. Remus was slightly heartbroken to realize he’d never taste Severus as he’d wanted to, not drink him down as he did their young lover. But he could taste other parts of him without worry, and Remus’ mouth already watered.

Severus’ eyes fluttered open and Remus smiled at him.

“You’re here,” the vampire mumbled groggily. “Did you call for me?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

Remus shook his head and Severus sighed with relief that he hadn’t been derelict in his duty.

“You should have,” Severus scolded softly, almost slipping back into sleep. He’d instructed Remus to tell him when he was ready to quit the bath so he could help the werewolf back to bed, but there had been no need, and Remus had wanted to stand on his own now that he was finally able.

He brought a hand to the vampire’s face to brush the ebony strands from it, and Severus’ hand rose automatically to meet it, resting over Remus’ wrist as if he’d done it countless times before. The easy contact made Remus’ heart soar. Severus had lain an arm’s length away from Remus for days and the werewolf hadn’t had the strength to reach for him. He owed Severus a thousand touches, a backlog of impulses that had had to go unfulfilled until now.

“My Sweet Severus,” he sighed, stroking the man’s cheek with his thumb. The address drew an endearing splash of colour to the surface of Severus’ alabaster skin.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of sweetness before,” he murmured with a familiar curl of his lip.

“People are blind,” Remus whispered, shaking his head at the folly of others. Nevermind that he was fairly recently one of them. “But I see you now.”

Severus’ lips were easily caught but less than confident as they returned Remus’ attentions. It was the first time they’d kissed without the influence of overwhelming stress or well-stoked passion. Though, Remus intended to remedy that situation in short order. He was feeling strong and assertive, and he had rarely been as sure of anything as he was of his feelings for the man laying beside him. He knew in his heart those feelings were requited. What Severus was displaying wasn’t reluctance, simply inexperience. Remus would remedy that, as well.

His hand slid from Severus’ cheek to the first in a seemingly endless queue of buttons, popping it open slowly to match the pace of their kiss. It wasn’t long before he had freed enough of them to slip his hand beneath the layers of fabric and claim the length of Severus’ neck with the covetous spread of his fingers. He could feel the tripping tempo of the vampire’s pulse beneath his palm, and it inspired their kiss to deepen. Remus didn’t want to rush, but he was anxious to feel more of the man, to sweep his hands unhindered down his lithe torso.

Severus did not assist in his unwrapping, but he allowed it. His fingers still rested on Remus’ busy hand but they exerted no influence one way or the other. He seemed simply to be hanging on, marking Remus’ progress as the werewolf carefully undid both the man and his buttons. It was not until the last had been unhooked, and Remus slid his hand around Severus’ waist, that the vampire reached to mimic his touch.

Severus hadn’t seemed to notice Remus’ nakedness, and he moaned softly into Remus’ mouth when he ran his palm down the werewolf’s back and encountered no resistance when he met the end of it, continuing eagerly on to the firm curve of Remus’ arse as Remus brought his knee up to slip between the vampire’s welcoming thighs. Severus was satisfyingly hard against his leg, but before Remus could roll him to his back to kiss him properly, Severus pulled away with a gasp.

“You haven’t even recovered from the last time,” he panted, laying a hand on Remus’ chest to restrain him as he still stretched for Severus’ lips. “You may have a death wish, but I’ve no interest in being your bane.”

“The matter seems simple enough,” Remus murmured into the crook of Severus’ neck, undeterred. Perhaps he should be more concerned, but his desire for this man overwhelmed his better sense, drowned out the memory of his recent, bitter weakness. Severus clasped his wrist to restrain him until he realized Remus was simply reaching for the vampire’s robe pocket. The shape of Severus’ wand was familiar and drawing it felt like becoming reacquainted with an old friend.

“Or will a prophylactic spell not suffice?” asked Remus, finally reining in his advances, though it took a considerable effort of will.

“I believe it might,” Severus said hesitantly. His cheeks were painted red and his eyes were heavily lidded. He gazed at Remus’ lips as he spoke as if he could taste them simply by looking and it made his mouth water. Severus didn’t want to stop any more than Remus did, but he was ever the cautious one. “But if I’m wrong...”

“There’s only one way to find out,” said Remus, offering Severus his wand. “Which do you think would be best? I know about half a dozen, though you might have one already in mind.”

Severus did not accept his wand. He simply stared at it for a moment before turning away, somehow blushing even further.

“Severus?” he frowned. “You do use prophylactic spells, don’t you?”

“I’ve never especially needed to,” the vampire said defensively. “Loraina disliked them. She said there were better ways to prevent conception and that she had always been careful to be tested for...other things. She took my virginity, and I took Harry’s,” he shrugged. “Until the incident with the Golden Hufflefucker--which, I realise now, never occurred--I knew them both to be faithful. There didn’t seem much danger in doing without a spell,” he said quietly, clearly self-conscious.

Remus blinked at the sheepish, half-naked man before him, unable to quite wrap his mind around what he was hearing. “You mean, after Rainey you never…? Until _Harry?_ ”

Severus didn’t answer, but his blush extended suddenly to the tips of his ears.

“Holy Hell, Severus. That was nearly fifteen years.”  

“I’m well aware,” Severus muttered. He began to roll away from Remus and off the bed, but the werewolf caught him around the waist and held him close from behind.

“Wait, my sweet,” he placated, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. I’m simply surprised.”  

“Do you have to keep calling me that?” Severus grumbled, but his annoyance sounded less than sincere.

“Yes,” Remus smiled, nuzzling his neck. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll teach you the spells, shall I? But for now, let me.”

“Are you certain you’re well enough for this?” Severus questioned even as he allowed Remus to ease him onto his back. Remus nodded his absolute certainty before reaching to gently undo the front of Severus’ trousers.

He looked at the man’s erection longingly, gratified to see that it hadn’t flagged. A bead of precome sat temptingly on the tip. Remus licked his lips but refrained from tasting it. He understood the aversion to the spell, as something was undoubtedly lost to it, and not just the satisfaction of that particular craving. It was far better than Muggle alternatives, but it still changed the texture of the skin, affected the way it would naturally move. It certainly limited the range of play. Remus would make do, though.

Severus gasped softly as Remus carefully eased back his foreskin and touched the tip of Severus’ wand to the gleaming head of the vampire’s cock, whispering the spell that would hopefully protect them from the almost deadly consequence of last time. Then he rolled to the side and did the same to his own, noticing Severus watched as he manipulated himself and that he seemed to enjoy doing so. His hungry expression lent a sudden urgency to Remus’ actions.

“We won’t be needing these,” Remus told him in a quiet growl as he worked off the rest of the man’s clothes. Severus was docile under Remus’ hands, and the werewolf knew it was not typical of him. The role reversal was gratifying though surprising.

But then, Severus had never really been with a man. They’d come together at some point via Harry before, but this situation was new for the vampire. He’d only ever been with a woman and a boy, both smaller and, with Severus, submissive. Remus wasn’t especially either of those things. There was no need for an exchange of power here, though. Remus was leading for now but only because Severus seemed so unsure. He’d have to work harder to contain himself, to soothe the vampire’s nerves. He slid back up to take the man in his arms again.

“Do you trust me, Severus?” he asked softly as he sampled the man’s neck, causing him to sigh. He didn’t otherwise answer and Remus pulled back to look him in the eye. “If you aren’t comfortable,” he assured him, combing his fingers through Severus’ hair, “we can stop.”  

“It isn’t that,” said Severus, his brow gently creased. “It’s simply so soon. You were so weak just yesterday.”

Remus smiled at him. Perhaps that was the reason he’d been so docile, but Remus wasn’t fragile.

“Let me worry about me,” Remus told him, reclaiming Severus’ lips so he could not argue further. Severus seemed to debate with himself for a moment, but then Remus felt him surrender, and their kiss became more heated, more what he’d expected from the man. Severus twined his arms around Remus and tangled their legs, pressing more closely against Remus’ body. It was not necessarily aggressive, simply responsive. Their passions fed off one another, and Remus was in raptures.

“Yes,” Severus sighed, throwing back his head to give Remus access to his neck. “I do.”

“You do what, my sweet?” Remus mumbled against Severus’ skin, distracted by its taste and its curious coolness, the silken texture of it.

“I do trust you,” Severus told him, very deliberately.

Remus slowly ceased his attentions and drew back, searching Severus’ face for confirmation of what he suspected the man had meant. The vampire’s look was unflinching and somehow vulnerable at the same time. Remus’ heart skipped a beat, then it pounded in his ears. He brought his hands to Severus’ face and the man pressed his cheek into Remus’ palm without breaking eye contact.

“It doesn’t have to be what you’ve known,” Remus said shakily. His heart was in his throat. “It doesn’t have to be the way Harry prefers it.”

“I know.”

“It can be gentle and slow.”

“ _Remus_ ,” he sighed, grasping him by the back of the neck to press their foreheads together. “I know. And I trust you.”

Remus was so overcome, he could barely breathe. He decided his gratitude could only properly be expressed with a kiss. And then another. And then more trailed down the man’s jaw and across his neck as Severus gasped softly beneath him. But then Remus paused to get a handle on himself, because if he didn’t, this would be neither gentle nor slow, and it must be absolutely perfect.

Remus worked his tongue and lips over Severus’ chest, and the way the man writhed beneath him severely tested Remus’ self-restraint. The vampire was so deliciously androgynous: the slight of his build, the fluid precision with which he moved. With the exception of a pert set of small breasts--which Remus did not _particularly_ miss--Severus possessed everything he sometimes craved about the female body; like the slink of it when at rest which revealed its graceful contours, and the supple, sweeping line it made when he arched in response to Remus’ ministrations; but with the essential addition of a beautiful, slender cock and the knowledge of how to use it well. Severus wasn’t feminine, he simply wasn’t overtly masculine, and Remus found the balance that was struck absolutely intoxicating.

Remus visited worship on almost every inch of Severus’ chest and stomach, outlining each rib with his tongue, memorizing every hollow with the brush of his lips, before wordlessly urging the man to roll over so he could repeat the process across the length and breadth of Severus’ back. The vampire panted and gasped, clawed at Remus’ sheets as the werewolf methodically drove him half mad with desire. Lust, Remus knew, was as essential to easing this process as was patience and lubrication. When properly aroused, the body naturally opened itself, and Remus would not take it until it begged him, until passion left it yawning in invitation.

Not that he wouldn’t help it along. Remus carefully guided Severus’ legs to spread with a caressing hand, savouring the satiny surface of his inner thigh as he kneaded the swell of Severus’ arse with relentless lips. He heard Severus’ breath hitch and felt his muscles stiffen when Remus settled between the man’s knees, but Remus eased his attentions to feathery kisses and stroked the vampire’s sides until he relaxed again. He warned Severus of his intention with a gentle swipe of his tongue the length of his crease from his perineum to the base of his spine. The man shivered and gasped, his breathing shallow in anticipation. He’d watched Remus do this to Harry, but nothing really prepared one for experiencing it for the first time oneself.

“It will be alright, my sweet,” Remus whispered soothingly, nuzzling his cheek against his. “Relax. Trust me.” The vampire still trembled, but his breathing slowed, and Remus gently parted him with his thumbs.

The first brush of the werewolf’s tongue across his pucker sent a shuddering jolt up the vampire’s spine. Remus lapped at him without pressure for a while, allowing him to become accustomed to the sensation, until Severus moaned softly into Remus’ pillow. Then, the werewolf gently massaged the quivering ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue. Even now it was contemplating acquiescence, the tension dissolving momentarily before returning in fits and starts with Severus’ stubborn apprehension.

“Just breathe, Sweet. Deep and slow,” he whispered between passes. “That’s it.” He felt the man truly relax finally, and he hummed his approval, earning him an encouraging groan from Severus.

Remus encountered less and less resistance after that, not needing to force himself inside. Each swipe of his tongue seemed to sink deeper than the last with almost no effort. The vampire was writhing again, lifting himself into Remus’ shallow thrusts until they established a stuttering rhythm. Severus’ breathy moans bled into one another until they were almost ceaseless, turned throaty as the vampire pressed back into Remus more insistently.

“M-more,” Severus whined, bunching the sheets in his fists. “Remus,” he gasped, “I need…ah!”

Remus worked him a moment longer before slowly pulling away. The vampire squirmed in response to his sudden absence with a plaintive whimper, but Remus stroked his back, enticingly sheened with a light sweat, as he rose to his knees and reached for the top drawer of his bedside table. Severus shivered as the werewolf retrieved a vial of clear liquid, watching intently as Remus used it to coat the fingers of one hand before settling beside him. Remus bent to kiss Severus deeply as he reached with oil-slicked fingers for the place he’d just left, still wet and warm and yielding from his efforts. He gently coaxed Severus’ tongue into his mouth and suckled it as his fingertip slowly pressed itself inside the man.

Severus’ lips drifted away from Remus’ as he concentrated on the invading digit, his features settling into the most exquisite, delicate grimace as he focused on relaxing his untrained muscles to allow the werewolf further inside of him. It was gorgeous, and Remus’ hand trembled as he battled the urge to plunge more quickly, to fuck the man with deep and ardent thrusts with his long, slender fingers until he cried out Remus’ name. The werewolf was so achingly hard, he feared Severus’ expression alone might undo him.

Once he was fully sheathed, he let his hand rest unmoving for Severus to adjust.

“Okay?” he asked, his voice taut, stroking the sweat-soaked hair from Severus’ face with the hand not embedded elsewhere. Severus panted, his fangs peeking from between his lips. He looked up at Remus, his eyes washed black, and seemed to consider for a moment before nodding. Remus carefully removed himself.

“Roll over then, my sweet.”

Severus’ cock was delicious despite the prophylactic spell. It seemed to fit between Remus’ lips and to the back of his throat as if it had been specially made for the space. It was Remus who writhed now as he brought his hand back to Severus’ opening, gently pressing himself into the mattress with the same slow cadence with which he worked his finger in and out of the vampire, the same rhythm with which he sucked him deep into his mouth again and again. His free hand found one of Severus’ and they grasped at one another as Remus’ pace quickened and they both moaned. Once again, Severus requested more, and Remus carefully pressed a second finger inside, searching for the man’s prostate.

One of them was going to come soon. The sound of Severus’ pleasure, swelling in his throat to spill from his lips over and over again, drove Remus to the brink. Severus had been so reserved before, so in control, and the abandon that now seemed to grip him, lifting him, arching, off the mattress, was one of the most erotic things Remus had ever witnessed because of it. He muttered incoherencies around the vampire’s twitching cock as he glanced up to see Severus’ head toss from side to side. And he pressed inside of him more insistently to tip him over the edge.

"No," Severus gasped. His hand found the back of Remus’ head and clutched at a fistful of the man’s hair, wrenching him away from the vampire’s lap with a sharp tug.

Remus gritted his teeth and growled low in his throat. He’d never been so roughly manhandled, and the unexpected thrill of it almost finished him. But for once, Severus wasn’t exerting authority. He was simply desperate and unable to control his actions with any precision as he continued to writhe around Remus’ unrelenting fingers. The werewolf watched with a surprised but deeply satisfied moan as Severus bowed his back, reaching a hand down to feel where they feverishly twisted in and out of him as if he might include one of his own.

“Want _you_...inside. Remus,” he shuddered, so close but not ready to be. “ _Please_ ,” he keened. Remus had to plunge his free hand between his own legs and grasp his bollocks to keep them from seizing.

 _Holy Hell._ This had been meant to be slow and gentle. Remus wasn’t certain just when that plan had been abandoned, but neither of them seemed to be complaining. Severus reached for him imploringly, and Remus attempted to crawl up the man to claim Severus’ lips, warm and red and plump from being pulled repeatedly between the man’s snagging teeth. But Remus’ head swam when he rose to his hands and knees, and his limbs quaked so violently they would not hold him. He seemed to have forgotten that he’d very recently almost died, and whatever strength had returned to him seemed to have been spent in lust already.

Now Remus was the one who whimpered and reached. And Severus, realising what must be happening, forced his own quivering limbs into compliance to slide himself down the mattress to meet the werewolf. He tangled his fingers in Remus’ sweaty blond curls and kissed the man as if both their lives depended on it, throwing his leg over Remus’ hip and reaching with his other hand to find Remus’ throbbing cock and guide it to his well-stretched hole. They were weak and trembling but managed to meet halfway in a glorious union that elicited a grateful sob from them both. There was no top or bottom, no dominance or submission. They lay side by side, clinging to one another, working equally and in synchrony toward a shattering  climax. 

When it finally came, Remus felt he might weep. As his vision cleared, he saw that Severus actually was, and he brought a shaking hand to the vampire’s face and stretched to kiss the salty beads from Severus’ cheeks. Neither of them could catch their breath.

“Are you alright, my sweet Severus? Did I hurt you?” he asked, stricken to think he might have betrayed the man’s trust. Severus didn’t know his limits yet, and Remus should have had more self-control. A bitter shame settled in the pit of his stomach until he felt the fluttering touch of Severus’ fingertips on his face.

“Oh, my Dear Remus,” was all he could manage, grimacing but not in pain, his fangs still extended. Remus couldn’t explain the shiver the sight induced. Severus brought his lips to the werewolf’s but could not kiss him for shuddering. Remus summoned the last of his strength to pull the man closer. If only he were well, he’d have held the man tighter. Though, it could never be tight enough, never close enough.

“I do,” Severus whispered, sliding his arms up to cling to Remus’ broad shoulders.

“You do what, my sweet?” Remus asked.

“I do love you,” he breathed in Remus’ ear.

The tears that had threatened before sprang forth again to cloud the werewolf’s vision, and he struggled to tighten his faltering grip around Severus’ waist, burying his face in the vampire’s chest with a quiet sob.

“ _Thank you._ ”

Remus almost thought he must have imagined it. He had feared that he might never hear it, or that he would have to wait years as Harry had.

Severus gave a weak chuckle. “Granted, I’m not overly familiar,” he said as he stroked Remus’ hair, “but I don’t think that’s how this exchange typically goes.”

Remus’ cheeks already ached from smiling, but his grin spread even wider.

“Of course, I love you,” he said emphatically, looking up into Severus’ impossibly dark eyes. Neither seemed to want to look away. They hadn’t really moved at all since they’d finished, and Remus still rested inside of Severus. As far as he was concerned, they could lay there exactly as they were--in each other’s arms, looking into each other’s eyes--forever.

Remus heard someone try the door but ignored it. He knew he’d locked it. Hermione might try the knob again to make sure but would quickly divine the reason for her blocked entry and leave them be. Sleep was creeping up on him. They were both spent and fading. The knob jiggled again, there was a creak, but Remus was drifting blissfully. He barely heard the _Petrificus Totalus_ tearfully whispered from the open doorway behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Art by **[EspadaIV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=espadaiv)**
> 
> ** **


	58. Reveal the Damn'd Contriver of this Deed

**Severus**

_Was he weeping?_

_Gods_. He was.

What had come over him? Severus didn’t weep.

Not only that, he had begged. He had _pleaded_. Had made the most humiliating of noises. He had writhed like a wanton and been reduced to a snivelling, twitching mess by this man and his tongue and his fingers and _\--gods--_ his cock. Severus felt he ought to be ashamed of his behaviour, but it was impossible to do so when the werewolf gazed at him with such wonder despite it.

It was as if Severus forgot who he was when he was with Remus. Or as if he became someone else entirely. _This man_...this wonderful, generous, foolishly good man...had shattered and remade him. He had looked at Severus’ fractured soul and seen something beautiful that hadn’t strictly existed, but in doing so, Remus had shaped Severus into that vision. He felt new. The look in Remus’ eyes left the vampire no choice but to believe he really was desirable, loved and worthy of that love. Remus had taken his broken pieces and, instead of trying to fit them back as they’d been, he had rearranged them into something better. Remus’ love made of Severus a mosaic.

“Are you alright, my sweet Severus? Did I hurt you?”

The vampire didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Yes. This hurt; like the breaking of shackles that had long been too tight. There was pain in liberation, sharp in its sudden contrast, in the recognition of the unacknowledged pain one had languished in which was no longer present but not recovered from either. Parts of Severus he had thought to be long dead were remembering how to feel, and the reawakening was gloriously agonizing.

Severus reached up with trembling fingers to touch Remus’ face, wondering at its stricken expression. It was so rare for anyone to be so moved by the thought of Severus’ suffering. He’d seen something like it many times before in Harry, but the young man was so new, he didn’t know what to do with it. Severus’ pain hurt him, but Harry always became preoccupied with that hurt, unable to address Severus’ for grappling with his own in response. It was less a matter of selfishness as it was of immaturity. Severus knew Harry would grow out of it. But he hadn’t realized how much he’d shouldered as a result in the meantime. And Remus’ single-minded concern for the vampire, even though he was unrecovered and spent past exhaustion himself, was touching.

“Oh, my Dear Remus,” he shuddered. He wanted to kiss the man but was too overwhelmed. Remus struggled to hold him tighter, and so Severus brought his arms around his shoulders to cling to him as best he could, though none of his limbs seemed to want to obey him.

“I do,” Severus told him. Remus had asked before. Not with his words, perhaps, but Severus had recognized the question in his eyes as Loraina had been speaking to Harry. Severus had been unsure then. He wasn’t any longer.

“You do what, my sweet?” Remus asked, pressing their foreheads together. Severus was already growing accustomed to the pet name.  
  
“I do love you.”

It was not a confession the old Severus would have been capable of making. It would have required too much vulnerability, would have exposed a weakness in him that could be exploited. The new Severus recognized that love was not a weakness but a strength. That it required courage. Besides, Remus had already torn down Severus’ walls, stripped all of his defences. But he had also shown in countless small ways that they were unnecessary in the first place, at least with Remus.

Whatever Severus had expected, it wasn’t for the werewolf to bury his face in the vampire’s chest. And it certainly wasn’t to hear the tear-filled _Thank you_ he sobbed there, but it was so very endearing.  
  
“Granted, I’m not overly familiar,” he admitted as he stroked Remus’ hair to console him, “but I don’t think that’s how this exchange typically goes.”  
  
“Of course, I love you,” Remus said emphatically, looking up at him with a smile like the sun. It sent a shiver of contentment through the very core of Severus’ being. The vampire lay for a while basking in it, amazed that it lingered even as sleep began to overtake the man. Their activities had been ill-advised and Severus was tempted to feel guilty. Remus had still been far too weak. But Severus had craved it so intensely, and Remus was a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.

Remus still rested inside him and it was curious how satisfying that was. He’d been so afraid for so long to allow such a thing, and now he hated to relinquish it. He must, though. It was too dangerous for them both to drift off to sleep this way. There was no telling how long the prophylactic spell would hold. Severus would shift them once Remus was properly asleep and clean them both. But it seemed alright now. It seemed too perfect to disturb.

He heard someone try the door, but a quick glance showed the lock in place. He decided to ignore it. Remus’ face, as he slipped into blissful oblivion, seemed far more deserving of his attention. The next jiggle of the knob went almost unmarked. It was the movement in his peripheral as the door swung open that made Severus half-raise his attention, and by that time, the spell had already left Hermione’s wand.

Severus could feel his features frozen in puzzlement. He and Remus were suddenly rendered into some erotic sculpture as the paralyzing spell locked them into place in each other’s arms. He was too confused and embarrassed by their condition to be angry yet. More than anything, he resented the intrusion on such a profound and cherished moment, but surely there was a reasonable explanation for whatever was happening.

There had better be.

He could just see Hermione over Remus’ shoulder. There were tears on her blushing cheeks. She disappeared from sight and shortly thereafter Severus felt a blanket settling over them.

“I hate to have done it this way,” Hermione apologized, closing and relocking the door, adding spells to it to prevent others from doing what she’d just done. “I’d been concerned about how I’d manage to spell you both without one of you having time to stop me. The opportunity presented itself and I simply had to.”

She took a ginger seat on the bed behind Remus and Severus could no longer properly see her face.

“I know it seems rude, but there are worse positions to be frozen in, don’t you think?”

There was no mockery in her voice, but Severus felt his cheeks colour. Apparently, the spell couldn’t prevent blushing. Severus looked at Remus’ motionless, beatific expression. The truth of her statement did not lessen the vampire’s building aggravation.

“It’s lovely, though, this is,” she said softly. Severus could veritably feel her eyes brush them. “I know not many people will understand. It took me a while to myself. But the way you all love each other is beautiful. I’ve seen the sincerity of it in your eyes, in all of your eyes as you look at each other, and I’m so sorry to have come between you and Harry.”

Her voice wavered, and Severus had a sinking feeling she wasn’t talking about her chronic disapproval of his and Harry’s relationship all these years. He watched her reach to tug the blanket up over Remus’ shoulder, covering him further before running a hand fondly down his arm.

“Remus, I’ve always loved you. I’ve always admired your integrity and your kindness, your unflagging optimism in the face of relentless struggle. It was partly to end that struggle that I did what I’ve done. Little did I know the closest solution to that puzzle was right in front of us this whole time,” she said, reaching for Severus’ hand where it clung still to Remus’ shoulder.

“Severus,” she said achingly, “I failed to appreciate you until far too late. I regret holding a grudge for so long. Getting to know the real you beneath the gruff exterior has been both a joy and a penance. If only I’d listened to Harry all those times he tried to convince me of all your good qualities. I was guilty of the same blind prejudice I condemn in others because I believed you took advantage of Harry. I simply couldn’t fathom the bond you shared or that it could be anything but immoral. It’s such a pity. There’s so much I could have learned from you, so much good we could have accomplished together. If I could have seen the truth of your feelings for Harry sooner, if I had known of your work on vaccines before, maybe all of this might never have happened. And now it’s too late.”

She seemed to dissolve into tears for a moment before pulling herself back together. Her distress distressed Severus. He wanted to feel charitably towards her, but he was sick with dread over what she would say next. Whatever reason she might have for paralyzing them and tearfully confessing her thoughts could not be a good one.

Could not be a _forgivable_ one. For all her generous compliments, she would not have bound them unless they would not have heard her out otherwise.

“I never meant for things to turn out this way,” she averred. “I _couldn’t_ have foreseen Loraina’s interference. Though, I don’t know what I expected, really,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself. “It was madness from the start. Love clouds one’s judgement. Though, I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.”

If he’d been capable, Severus’ eyes would have fallen shut in nauseating disappointment. This couldn’t be real. Obviously, he was still sleeping, waiting for Remus to call him for help out of the bath. What they’d done had been too perfect to have actually happened, anyway. Severus had been dreaming and now it had shifted into nightmare. There was no other explanation. The alternative was too unthinkable.

“I know you said it was dangerous,” she said nervously. “But I suppose we’ll have to hope for the best. I’d been agonizing over how to explain the situation, how to make you understand _why_ I infected Harry. I knew you’d never accept mere words. And then, when you told me about sharing memories, it all became clear. It was like a gift, though I certainly don’t deserve one. I know,” she said tearfully, “that you will never forgive me. And that’s alright. I shall never, ever forgive myself. But I need you to see. For Harry’s sake, so you can explain it to him, I need you to really understand what happened. This is the only way,” she finished, her voice small and pitiful and pleading.

Severus had not an ounce of sympathy for her. He hoped she suffered. He was bitter that she would never know the depth of suffering she’d inflicted on Harry. Whatever fondness that had awakened in him as they had worked on Harry’s potion had withered entirely.

_I infected Harry._

The confession echoed disorientingly through his awareness. He had thought it convenient that she had brought the one book, perhaps in all existence, that contained the key to Harry’s reprieve, but he’d been too grateful at the time to question it. As he had explained his work to her and that he’d been working on a vaccine for years, she had been shocked, had run immediately to her cache of tomes and plucked the perfect one from the pile without hesitation, turning to the necessary page as if she’d done so several times before. Because she had.

And she wanted them to empathize with why she’d done this unspeakable thing. If Severus could have moved, he’d have refused the memory she foisted on them. She did not deserve their understanding. She most certainly didn’t deserve Harry’s through them.

Nevertheless, Severus saw the glimmery strand drift into view. It was a terrible violation to do this without one’s consent. She’d never done it herself. She had no idea what it did to a person. He doubted it would have stopped her, anyway. Hermione rose to her feet and bent to smooth the still damp hair from Remus’ temple in order to lower the memory there. She did not leave it long. He’d told her it was unnecessary. He’d told her so much because he had thought he could trust her.

After she removed it from Remus, she bent and, with an apologetic expression, carefully lowered it into Severus’ mind, as well.


	59. Thou Art Too Much Deceived

**Remus**

_Hermione had been used._

The thought gasped. It was the only coherent notion Remus was capable of as he watched her share with Severus the overwhelming explosion of information she’d just shown him. He was still grappling with the enormity of what he suddenly knew, was still swimming in images and thoughts and feelings he hadn’t yet made sense of, but the one clear thought Remus had was that Hermione had been manipulated.

It was not a thing she felt herself. Clever as she was, she was too trusting, somehow too pure. It was a conclusion the werewolf came to on his own. She hadn't realized it yet, but Hermione had been blatantly exploited.

The consequences had been so calamitous, he wanted to reject the sympathy he felt for the young woman. But even before she’d forced her point of view on them, Remus had been more disappointed than angry, had felt bad for her without understanding with such clarity why he should. She was like a niece to him. However much he loved Harry, he’d also adored Hermione, and it made him absolutely sick that she had thrown away her future. It had been  _so_ bright.

And all for a girl who Remus suspected did not properly love her back, who was simply enamoured of the opportunity Hermione presented. How long would that love last now that Hermione could no longer provide the influence of her name, now that she could not lift her lover into fame with her? Hermione was going to be devastated when she realized she’d hurt Harry so profoundly for nothing.

 _Katie_.

Remus couldn’t hate Hermione. The rancour that burned in him was reserved solely for the young woman who had led their dear friend astray. Katie, whose Muggle father had met her Muggle mother while visiting London, had lived abroad long enough to absorb the warped American concept of social justice, bringing it back with her to her birthplace. It had been her sentiments Hermione had broached before when she floated the idea of Harry coming out to the public.

Katie had idolized Hermione as a student at Ilvermorny. While most American Witches and Wizards were hardly aware of the war being waged across the pond, a handful of globally-minded students followed it obsessively, attempting to raise awareness and encourage aid. Katie had been at the forefront of the near-ignored ideological crusade. It was their S.P.E.W. To them, it was simply a cause. More than anything, it was a banner they waved to make them feel more enlightened and evolved than their peers. It was abstract and distant enough to not truly be understood, though nuance was often lost on most Americans, anyways; and the excessively wealthy tended to be out-of-touch regardless of their setting.

Hermione was a legend in activist circles, even in the US, and meeting her at a march for Creature rights on campus and realizing they went to the same university had been a dream come true for Katie. But Remus suspected it was Hermione’s reputation she loved more than the young woman it was attached to.

_“Being Hermione Granger must open a lot of doors. Being Harry Potter would open even more.”_

_“Activism isn’t Harry’s thing.”_

_“How could it not be? Isn’t he fucking a vampire?”_

_“I told you that in confidence, Katie! Don’t you_ dare  _breathe a word.”_

 _“You know I won’t. But isn’t his best friend a werewolf? Aren’t they all gay? He couldn’t be a more perfect icon for Social progress unless he was Muggle-Born. And he was_ raised  _by Muggles. His mother was Muggle-born._ You’re  _Muggle-born.”_

**_Too much._ **

There was too much information too suddenly. Hermione had strung together so many memories into a single strand, but she hadn’t allowed him to watch them play out, and the enormous mass of detail she’d deposited in Remus’ mind practically caused him physical pain. Remus was still disoriented when he felt her withdraw. Severus’ mildly confused expression was, of course, unchanged; but Remus could see the quickened tick of his pulse in the vein in his neck. He could only imagine what Severus was thinking. Undoubtedly, it was something murderous.

“So now you know where he’s going.”

Did they? Remus sifted through the conglomerated mess in his brain.

Yes. It was there. An island owned by Katie’s family. 

_They’re rich enough to own an island?_

It was small and remote...and filled with monsters.

“He won’t know where to safely land there,” she fretted. “The port is cloaked. The rest of the island is inundated with Muggle-repelling charms, but that won’t deter Harry and Loraina. They’ll almost certainly land on the island proper, and it is  _so_ dangerous.”

She hadn’t known just how dangerous until recently. So much had been done without Hermione’s knowledge. She would never have condoned human experimentation, which is why they didn’t tell her about it until after the fact.

_“Don’t let their sacrifice have been in vain, Hermione. Because of them, we have a perfected serum. Honor them by seeing to it that it does its job.”_

Remus felt a chill skate up the immobile muscles of his back. Their Potions Master, Agnes, _the Boss_ , was without conscience, and Katie believed the ends justified the means. And Hermione was a pawn, the one with access to Harry; a brilliant, idealistic fool caught in a quagmire that wasn’t strictly of her making.

“Please be careful when you go,” Hermione begged them. “I know you’re still so sick, Remus. And Severus, you must be exhausted. But at least you know what you’re facing and can be prepared. Harry and Loraina have found Agnes’ distributor. He was the only one who knew where the island was and what goes on there. They’ll almost certainly be headed that way as soon as Harry recovers from the Full, which won’t take long.”

Remus felt himself suddenly embraced. “Please, try to forgive me,” she begged in his ear, weeping softly. “I only ever wanted to make the world a better place. I lost my way, but I still love you all with my whole heart.  _Please,_ tell Harry I love him. And that I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” She released him and stepped back.

“I’m afraid this has to be goodbye.” She was crying properly now, with irrepressible, hiccupping gasps. “The spell should wear off in an hour or so. I’ll miss you all  _terribly_ ,” she sobbed. “Save Harry. Bring him home. Severus, do  _great_ things. And Remus, please take care of them both.”

Remus heard her leave, her distress growing faint as she made her way to her room before he heard the gentle pop of her Disapparation. Then, he heard nothing at all. The silence made Remus’ pounding heart all the more deafening. There were so many reasons to panic, Remus hadn’t even properly catalogued them all. But one was far more pressing than the others.

An hour or so. They would be locked like this for an hour more!  _But they couldn’t be._ The spell Remus had used on himself had never lasted so long. There were other prophylactic charms that were more enduring, but he’d known he would be too weak for their activities to be anything but brief. He’d aimed for strength over longevity. She couldn’t have known when she froze them that Remus was still inside Severus, or how little separated the vampire from the dangerous product of their love. That wouldn’t make it any easier to forgive her should Severus fall ill.

He wondered if the vampire had realized the peril he was in. Remus had never been under a Petrificus before, but he had to believe there was a way to speed up his release. He fought against the paralysis in his limbs, concentrating on moving his extremities through sheer will. He was exhausted already, but Remus would do whatever he could, would struggle to his dying breath, to protect the man locked in his arms.

 


	60. And Wander'd Hither to an Obscure Plot

**Severus**

_Agnes Pierce._

Severus remembered her now. She’d been cleverer than the typical aspiring Death Eater. That’s why he’d allowed her to personally assist him in the lab. Though by that time, Severus was so jaded he considered anyone devoted to their ‘cause’ to be lacking in some vital critical reasoning skills and not worth an inordinate amount of his attention or respect.

That condescension would lead to their collective downfall.

She’d looked up to Severus, had seen him as a mentor, a role model. To her, he was the ultimate example of what a Death Eater should be. He was the Dark Lord’s most trusted and beloved servant and a genius Potions Master, besides. But Severus had no time for her questions. He didn’t recognize her true abilities. And somewhere along the way, her adoration had turned to resentment.

It was only after the final battle, when she had gone back for Severus’ notes, that she realized he’d been intentionally causing the hybrid potion to fail. The formula he’d left behind wasn’t perfect, but it would not have taken much to make it so. That was no consolation to her at the time. Not after she’d produced her own in secret, certain she had struck on the flaw in the recipe. She had intended to succeed where the Dark Lord’s shining paragon had failed, both securing her ascension to official Death Eater status and embarrassing the man who almost willfully overlooked her brilliance. She was so confident in her abilities, in fact, that she tested her prototype on her own brother, so he would have the honour of being the Dark Lord’s first hybrid soldier.

But she wasn’t as skilled as she’d believed. Something had gone wrong. Unlike the countless other test subjects she’d helped dispose of, her brother had lived through the ordeal, and he was indeed a hybrid, but he was also strictly a monster. Almost none of his human faculties survived the transformation. To her utter heartbreak, she would have to keep him bound and imprisoned, at least until she could work out some sort of cure. But then the Dark Lord had fallen and her plans with him. And it was soon revealed that he fell because of the man she’d once so revered.

When Agnes discovered that the hybrid potion wasn’t the only thing Severus had sabotaged, her hatred consumed her. Because of his betrayal, she reasoned, she was destitute. Though skilled, she was near unemployable, especially as she had to care for a demon of her own making in her basement. She had no resources. She only escaped prosecution by assuming a new identity and living in the squalid shadows off Knockturn.

Fortunately, she hadn’t been the only one left struggling after the war ended. Scores of her fellow pureblood loyalists had hit rock bottom with her, and they all had a need; one she could satisfy. She couldn’t afford the ingredients for Audentia, but Mut was close enough and cost pennies to produce. Someone with the necessary skill and equipment could make a fortune. Or at the very least, a living.

Severus knew these things because Hermione knew them. And she knew them because Katie had told her. And Katie could tell her because she’d met Agnes while performing some volunteer social work for the disadvantaged.

Agnes generally distrusted the goody-two-shoes social workers, as her papers were false; but they were sound, and she was desperate, had spent all her profit from Mut on wasted potions ingredients for failed antidotes. She needed government aid to keep them fed if she was going to keep trying to cure her brother.

Katie was different from the other volunteers Agnes had spoken to. She liked her. She wasn’t a smug Gryffindor or a blasted, insufferable Hufflepuff. That was because she hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, at all. She did not have an automatic prejudice against Slytherins, and Agnes didn’t need to bother pretending to be otherwise, which put her at ease. Katie was a Thunderbird, whatever that meant, and after she regularly, personally helped Agnes find assistance through a variety of Ministry programs, Agnes had started to share more details about her unique situation with the engaging, understanding American.

Severus’ head pounded. There was not space enough for all the information Hermione had forced on him. To make sense of it, he needed to start at the beginning somehow and work his way through. Though she’d never practised it before, Hermione had deftly sewn together a number of memories, like editing a film. Trust Miss Granger to be an instant expert even in this. It was such a shame. All that cleverness would now go to waste. But that was the least of his concerns. Severus needed to follow the narrative she’d provided, and seeing as they would not be moving for a while, he might as well attempt to do just that. He could not close his eyes, but he successfully ignored what they showed him and reached into his new memories.

It had only been a matter of months since Hermione had met Katie Winstead. The young woman had been in a number of Hermione’s classes, but it wasn’t until they bumped into one another at a rally that the fierce New Englander with the quirky glasses had recognized the famous Gryffindor. That wasn’t entirely Katie’s fault. Hermione had taken to straightening her hair. Her curls were so characteristic that it proved a fairly effective disguise. She didn’t particularly care about her appearance beyond being well-groomed, but notoriety was not conducive to study, she’d found.  

Coming to know Katie over coffee and homework and the late-night creation of protest signs was like looking into a mirror for Hermione. She’d found herself a doppelganger with a charming accent, someone who was as passionate and bright and concerned about equality and the rights of the oppressed as she was. They’d been instantly and mutually smitten. Katie’s ideas might have been a shade more radical than Hermione was used to, but her intentions were pure and her energy electric. Whenever their path seemed daunting and Hermione’s conviction flagged, her spirit dampered by harsh realities, Katie was there to reignite her fire. She helped Hermione hold on to the belief that a more just society was possible in their lifetimes. With enough work and the right risks, they could change the world.

“Activism isn’t Harry’s thing,” Hermione had had to explain to her one night after Katie had broached the idea. Their pillow talk often included discussion of some social issue. They liked to share ideas in the sated comfort of their afterglow. Safe in each other’s arms, warm in their bed, no dream seemed too big.

Well. Almost any dream.   

“How could it not be?” Katie had asked, absently fondling the spray of freckles across Hermione’s bare chest. “Isn’t he fucking a vampire?”

“I told you that in confidence, Katie,” Hermione had warned. She felt bad for having shared something so sensitive, but there was no one else for her to complain to about Harry’s unconventional lover and their worrisome habits. “Don’t you dare breathe a word.”

“You know I won’t,” Katie assured her. “But isn’t his best friend a werewolf? Aren’t they all gay?” she argued. “He couldn’t be a more perfect icon for social progress unless he was Muggle-Born. And he was _raised_ by Muggles. His mother was Muggle-born. _You’re_ Muggle-born.”

“Well, I would argue that _I_ am his best friend,” Hermione countered. The conversation made her uncomfortable. She’d discussed activism with Harry before because she recognized the impact he could have, but Harry was weary. He wasn’t ready to enter another fray. “Remus is technically his godfather. Though that whole triangle is massively complicated,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to pretend to be obtuse for me, Hermione,” Katie scolded playfully after the attempted redirection. “I’m not threatened by smart, driven women.”

Apparently, the opposite was true, as she stretched up to sample Hermione’s neck. Hermione was continuously flattered by Katie’s attention. It was not a thing she was accustomed to. Viktor had been complimentary, of course, but for all his sweetness and devotion, he was fairly...simple. He felt Hermione was something special but didn’t really appreciate how and why. Katie understood her, though, and she adored Hermione for all the right reasons.

“Harry is tired,” she argued but without much vehemence. Katie’s kisses were distracting. “He’s fought for others for a long time.”

“You’ve fought, as well,” Katie pointed out. “And you choose to keep fighting.”

“He _is_ training to be an Auror.”

Katie scoffed and Hermione was sad when she pulled away. “And become a cog in the police state? Great. He’s training to be part of the problem.”

Hermione furrowed her brow at her. “I think he’s more interested in bringing change from the inside, like me.” It wasn’t a far-fetched concept. Idealism was fine and good, but it had to be tempered with practicality. There was only so much they could accomplish with antagonism. “Katie, I want to be a legislator,” she contended. “You’re studying law yourself. You _know_ how this works. The only change that’s lasting comes from within the system.”

“The system never changes unless it’s required to change by the people,” said Katie, unswayed. “The people never change until it affects them personally. Or affects someone they love. And no one is loved more than Harry Potter.”

The comment chilled her for some reason. It sounded as if Katie had more in mind than Harry speaking at rallies. Hermione gave the young woman an apprehensive look which Katie seemed to take as an invitation.

“I’ve been chewing on an idea,” she told her, her eyes dancing as if she’d been waiting for the right moment to share it. “Listen, I’ve met someone. No, not like _that_ kind of ‘meeting someone’. On volunteer, I ran across this lady who says her brother is both a werewolf and a vampire. You ever heard of such a thing?”

“What? No. That’s not even possible,” Hermione said with a shake of her head, unsure how a stranger’s delusion related to Harry.

“That’s what I figured, too,” Katie said, growing excited. “But then I remembered a story I’d read in a book my parents bought while we were vacationing in Spain when I was younger.” She hopped out of bed to pull said book from her messenger bag. “So, I kept talking to her, right?” she went on, crawling back into bed while Hermione perused the beautiful old tome. “That boyfriend of Harry’s, he’s a real piece of work isn’t he?”

Hermione was disconcerted by the apparent subject shift. “He certainly could have chosen better, yes,” she conceded, her lips pursed.  

“The trial records are all sealed, I’ve checked, but apparently he was dabbling in some pretty twisted shit while working for Old Fuckface. We’re talking Mengele level unethical. This woman,” said Katie, pausing until Hermione looked up at her, “she was his lab assistant.”

Hermione gaped at her. “What? And she’s not in Azkaban?” Pardons had not been handed out liberally and sentences were not lenient. It had taken every bit of Harry’s influence to save Severus from prison, despite how instrumental he was in ending the war. No one working in Voldemort’s potions laboratory should still be at liberty.

“She went into hiding, changed her name and all that,” Katie said trying to wave it off. Hermione wouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

“You should have reported her,” she said critically. It hurt her feelings somehow that her girlfriend would so much as give the woman the time of day. “Why would you even entertain such a person?”

“Oh, she’s a piece of work herself, alright. Deals drugs to all the rest of the leftover dregs from Voldemort's army,” Katie told her with a shrug, to Hermione’s increasing outrage.

“ _Katie!_ You realize these are the people who _killed_ my friends. And you’re fraternizing?” After six months, she still struggled to impress upon the young woman how personal these events were to her, and the fact that Katie seemed so unperturbed by such associations upset Hermione.

Katie could see Hermione’s distress and took her hand to bring it to her lips.

“I know,” she placated. “These are terrible people. Honestly, they’re barely human to me. Which is why I think Agnes is better where she is, doing what she’s doing to keep them all in the slums where they belong. But it’s not just that,” she went on, not giving Hermione time to reflect on the callousness of the statement. “There’s a reason I’ve been building her trust. She told me what she helped Snape work on, and it’s something I think can help us.”

Severus mentally stepped back from the memory for a moment. This exercise was exhausting. His guilt was already so heavy, and these revelations didn’t lighten it in the least. He knew Hermione had disapproved of his and Harry’s relationship, but he hadn’t quite realized she’d had such a harsh opinion of him personally. He shouldn’t care what she thought, especially now, but it was an unexpected blow. And this lover of hers seemed to have an even lower opinion, had helped to drag Hermione’s down further.

Miss Winstead certainly was an opportunistic little hussy, Severus thought bitterly. And a conniving one. Agnes had told her all about the special infection Old Fuckface’s Cocktail Mixer had developed--self-contained and non-transmittable--and a plan had begun to form in her mind just as she’d met someone with ties to the one person necessary to execute it.

“We have all this information, Hermione,” Katie huffed, pulling the book from her hands and staring at the ancient bloodwolf illustration as if it was the key to everything. “The knowledge is there, I know it. Likely it’s been looking us in the face for centuries but no one’s cared to use it. All that’s missing is the motivation. No one bothers to improve the lives of monsters. As if they couldn’t also benefit from a cure, as if it doesn’t potentially protect them should they somehow become infected,” she fumed, more baffled and frustrated than bitter. For all her talk of making things personal for others, this issue still didn’t touch her as it should. It was a concept. A crusade.

“They don’t see Vampires and Werewolves as victims, as infected humans. To most people, they _are_ their infection. And the horrors of their illness are attributed as personality flaws, like they are moral failings or something rather than magical symptoms. We have to find a way to make them care, Hermione. We have to find someone beloved and above moral reproach to make it hit home for people.”

“I cannot _believe_ you’d propose such a thing,” Hermione said, fighting back furious tears. This girl was supposed to care about her, but she couldn’t, not if she could make such a suggestion, even as a hypothetical. “Harry is my friend. My oldest and dearest friend,” she spat, turning to crawl out of bed to escape the insensitive young woman.

“Whoa. Cool that Gryffindor temper and listen to what I’m saying, Hermione,” Katie said, attempting to prevent her departure. Hermione jerked her arm from the girl’s grasp but stopped trying to leave.

“I heard what you said, Katie,” she hissed. “And like it or not, I _am_ a Gryffindor.”  

“Then act like it,” Katie challenged.

Hermione was shocked out of a generous portion of her anger.

“What?”

“Be brave. Be bold.”

“This isn’t bravery. This is betrayal,” Hermione insisted, bothered by the insinuation that her courage was lacking. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to save Harry’s and I’m not about to ruin it just when he’s finally gotten it to himself just for some blasted ideal,” she spat.

“But they would _fix_ him, Hermione,” Katie persisted. “Because of who he is, they’d have no choice. They wouldn’t rest. That’s the whole point. That’s why Agnes would help. She wants to cure her brother.”

Hermione was beyond exasperated. “We aren't certain it’s even possible!”

“You _know_ it is,” Katie said with absolute confidence, taking both of Hermione’s hands and looking steadily and reassuringly into her eyes. “And when they fix Harry, they fix his boyfriend. And his godfather,” she added, knowing Hermione would be more swayed by Remus’ plight than Severus’.

“He’s young. He’s got plenty of years ahead of him,” she went on while Hermione was still reflecting on Remus’ bitter and undeserved struggles. “Do you think he would begrudge a few spent sick if it cured everyone he loved?”

Hermione returned Katie’s unwavering stare. There wasn’t much Harry wouldn’t do for either man. If he really thought he could contribute to a cure, Harry would sacrifice almost anything, including a few years of his life.

“Can you not bear to see him hurt for just a little while if it lifted _thousands_ out of the gutter and gave them back their lives?” Katie asked as if Hermione was being selfish for wanting to shield her best friend from harm. “If it eradicated disease and stigma and healed society, or at least a massive chunk of it, don’t you think it would be worth it? Wouldn’t he think so?”

The whole thing frightened Hermione, both in the scale of the vision and the sober reality of the price that would have to be paid to make it manifest. It was still fanciful at this point, though. It was just talk. The implications, both good and bad, left her reeling.

“They’d never let him agree,” she finally responded. All these arguments were moot, really, because Severus and Remus would never, ever allow Harry to volunteer. And that knowledge allowed her to breathe a little easier.  

The matter seemed simple enough to Katie, though.

“Then let’s not give them a choice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'NOTICE ME, SENPAI!'


	61. Remember, Boys, I Pour'd Forth Tears in Vain

**Severus**

The only reason Hermione agreed to meet the woman was because she wanted to be able to identify her for the court.

Well, that was the main reason. At least, it was the one she told herself. But there was a generous amount of curiosity she didn’t openly admit to. If Pierce’s brother truly was what she said he was, he was a miracle. So much could be learned from studying him, Hermione simply couldn’t afford to ignore the opportunity completely. She wasn’t sure, though, what would happen to him if his sister was arrested. She wasn’t even certain he’d consented to take the potion. He may need an advocate. The situation was complicated, and Hermione needed more information.

“I know who _you_ are,” Agnes had hissed when she laid eyes on Hermione. “This is a trap,” she accused Katie, looking around her as if she suspected Aurors of hiding in the shadows.

“She isn’t exactly undercover, is she? If I was going to bring a narc, I’d have chosen a less conspicuous one. Relax, she’s on our side,” Katie assured her.

Hermione cast Katie an uneasy glance. She sounded so confident, though Hermione didn’t recall giving her any indication of such a thing beyond allowing herself to be cajoled out of giving the young woman the silent treatment after a few days. No doubt, Katie assumed that meant Hermione had finally ‘come to her senses’. Sometimes she was too sure of herself.

“She’s on _his_ side,” Agnes argued, eyeing Hermione distrustfully. She wasn’t wrong, and the look the Gryffindor gave Agnes was not charitable.  

“We all want the same thing,” Katie said calmly, trying to ease the tension.

“Really?” Agnes demanded, “because I want the traitor’s bollocks and saviour’s neck.” She glared at Hermione as she said this.  

“Harry did not hurt you,” Hermione told her with a coldness that burned. She hated everything about the woman.

She was furtive and rat-like, an opportunist who profited from the suffering of others. Mut was an epidemic on Knockturn, fueling crime and despair. That she had nothing to show for the sin but a series of failed cures for her monstrous sibling did not arouse any sympathy from Hermione.

“You picked the wrong side.”

“It might not have been the wrong side if not for them,” the woman countered, just as acidly.

“It would always have been the wrong side, just not the losing one. But here we are,” Hermione smirked. The woman didn’t seem to take kindly to being called a loser, and Katie had to intervene before she could draw her wand.  

“Agnes,” she said, throwing up her hands, “do you want to heal your brother or not?” That subdued the woman. She’d been struggling with his condition alone for a long while. “ _And_ hurt your enemy?” Katie added to sweeten the pot.

“How does this hurt my enemy?” she asked, distrustful but coming around. “It might inconvenience the Boy Who Lived, but he isn’t really the one I want to suffer.”

“Not a lot of people know this, but the traitor happens to be boinking the saviour,” Katie informed her with a smirk, earning a scowl from Hermione. Agnes looked sceptical. They weren’t an obvious couple. “ _Worships_ him. Ask her,” she said with a nod to Hermione who said nothing, but her uncomfortable blush seemed confirmation enough for the woman. “You could show Snape the pain you’ve felt, watching a loved one suffer,” Katie persuaded.

“You’re just as smitten with him,” Agnes accused, narrowing her eyes at Hermione whose skin was veritably crawling at such talk.

The thought of Harry in pain made her physically ill. Through Katie, Agnes had painted a pretty grim picture of the atrocities Severus was capable of, but if he was dear to Harry, there must be something redeeming about him, and Hermione couldn't actively wish pain on him, either. Severus had risked so much during the war to keep Harry safe. All of these thoughts must have been written on Hermione's face. Agnes was more than a little tempted by Katie’s proposal, but she wasn’t a complete fool.

“Why would you let him be hurt?”

Hermione said nothing. _She wouldn’t_ let him be hurt. She was only here to understand the situation better. Wasn’t she? Katie watched Hermione become increasingly anxious from the corner of her eye.

“Because she cares about helping people,” she interjected, pulling the focus from her troubled girlfriend. “If Harry Potter is infected, they’d move Heaven and Earth to cure him. And if they cure him, they cure everyone. They cure your brother.”

“My brother is something no one else is,” Agnes fretted, paying Hermione no further mind. She could tell Agnes cared for him, and she wanted desperately to believe he could be saved, but she seemed to have learned that hope was dearly bought.

“Then we need to make Harry Potter whatever that is,” said Katie. “Can you do that?”

They didn’t have to _use_ the serum, did they? If they could just convince Agnes to produce it, maybe they could analyze it. Hermione didn’t pursue Potions herself, but she knew plenty of aspiring Potions Masters and Healers from school. They were often the most active in conversations about Creatures’ rights and eager to volunteer their scientific knowledge to combat the myths and blind prejudices surrounding the debate. They would be fascinated by this development.

“I have the fiend’s notes,” Agnes nodded. “And I see what’s wrong with them. But it won’t be easy,” she added with a sharp sideways glance to Katie. “Or cheap.”

“Oh, I have money,” Katie chuckled. “And money can obtain anything else. Tell me what you need and I’ll make it happen.”

Severus was distracted by a moan from Remus. It was faint, but the arms around Severus’ waist trembled, as well. It was curious. Severus’ own paralysis showed no signs of weakening. It was actually assisting his mental exercise, and he wasn’t overly anxious for it to end. Hermione was gone. The liberty of movement would not bring them any closer to finding her. Kingsley and Arthur were unavailable, sneaking around the Malfoy dungeons looking for clues of involvement they would never find. Minerva was away interviewing a potential new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Besides, freedom would only make Severus restless, and he needed to finish what he was doing before he could allow himself to rush off to Harry’s rescue.

The irony almost made him ill: rescuing Harry from a rescue mission. How many times was this now? Both young Gryffindors were still bloody children and just as easily manipulated. Katie was simply Hermione’s new Draco. How grasping and desperate for understanding and affection must she be that she allowed herself to be duped again? To have dragged Harry into peril _again?_ Human nature could not be learned from books. Intelligence was worthless if not accompanied by common sense. Perhaps this will have finally taught the otherwise brilliant girl to put less faith in her heart or in other people.

But was it really so straightforward? Perhaps he wasn’t being fair. After all, Severus was having to unlearn that very lesson himself. It was what had kept him so isolated for so many years. It had also kept him alive, though, he reasoned. And he had only dismantled his walls for those who had eventually proven themselves worthy of it.

Severus turned his attention to Remus again. His extremities seemed to stir more and more, but his angelic expression had not yet changed except to be sheened lightly with sweat. Though Severus’ hand and leg were going numb from his weight, the werewolf was still a warm, comfortable shape in the vampire’s arms.

Looking at him, a part of Severus was glad he’d closed himself off so tightly. Remus had been worth waiting for. Severus’ paralysis chafed, finally, with the vampire’s sudden impulse to bring his fingertips to Remus’ face. It was so different from Harry’s, from anyone Severus had ever been intimate with or had had the desire to be intimate with. There was nothing soft about it, and yet it was enticing, begged to be touched. His freshly shaven jaw was so sharp and strong. His delicately parted lips, looking as if they were waiting to be kissed, were thin but expressive. Even the lines etched across his face were attractive. They did not age him, they illuminated him. The ones that bracketed his mouth spoke of a habit of smiling. The deepest ones, at the corners of his bright, amber eyes, evoked the impression of kindness and laughter. He was so handsome once one took the time to look. It was almost as if he’d worn a glamour similar to Harry’s and Severus had only just been allowed to see how breathtaking he actually was.

Studying him was delightfully distracting, but Severus was in the middle of something. With effort, he ignored Remus and sank back into memory.

“I can’t believe you’re still corresponding with her,” Hermione fumed. After the meeting, Agnes hadn’t been mentioned again, and Hermione had assumed that the scheme had been abandoned once she’d informed Katie she had no intention of participating. But now here was an owl to Katie from Agnes.

“I don’t like her. I don’t trust her, and I’m turning her in,” Hermione said flatly. The serum wasn’t worth working with such a person. Hermione would find a way of broaching the subject with Severus. He wrote the original formula, surely he could provide some insight.

“She’s not in London anymore,” Katie told her, tucking the scrap of parchment into her pocket and feeding the owl a treat before sending it off.  

“Good,” Hermione said automatically. Then, “Wait. Where is she?”

Katie ignored the question. “Now that exams are over, let’s take a vacation,” she said, slipping an arm around Hermione’s waist and pulling her in for a sweet kiss. “There’s this island I own…”

Remus moaned, much louder this time. It sounded as if he were trying to speak but couldn’t manage it just yet. The arm draped over Severus’ side slid down it a few inches. He’d be fully mobile before long, and when he was, he’d free Severus. The Potions Master needed to finish reviewing his new memories. He skimmed through Hermione’s arrival on the tropical beach and her delight at the private paradise. Katie had pulled out all the stops to impress. Champagne and a host of aphrodisiacs on a blanket on the sand. Kisses and sweet nothings in the surf. It wasn’t until the next day, after proclamations of ardent and sincere love had been exchanged, that Katie invited Hermione to tour another part of the small island.

A formidable magical barrier separated their peaceful cove from the dense trees behind the villa, and just inside it was the door to a sizeable underground bunker, obviously very new but already saturated with the pungency of potions ingredients.

Remus rolled away from Severus, breaking his concentration. The werewolf was ungainly as he untangled himself from Severus, as if drugged. The vampire struggled to focus.

“Loose on the island? _How many?_ ” Hermione couldn’t breathe. “How are we any better than Voldemort?”

“Don’t let their sacrifice have been in vain, Hermione. Because of them, we have a perfected serum. Honor them by seeing to it that it does its job.”

Remus’ fingers were crawling painstakingly across the sheets toward Severus’ wand, and he was grunting with the effort. He’d release Severus from the spell any moment. The vampire needed to finish...

“Katie, I don’t want to do this.” She had been desperate but tried not to let it show. “We’ve made so much progress already without Harry. Now that we’ve perfected the hybrid, we can study it.”

 _Perfected the hybrid._ Gods, they’d perfected monsters. The infection could be used as a weapon by anyone as unethical as Voldemort with enough clueless volunteers to build an army. Did Katie not see that? But they had a small island of them already, somehow, and Hermione couldn’t help them without a cure. Could they even find a cure without Harry?

“ _Surely_ we can find other Potions Masters supportive of what we’re trying to do and bring them on board.” Everything was spiralling out of control. When had this happened? Why hadn’t she done more to stop it?

"It’s already done, Hermione.”

For a moment, she simply blinked at the girl, not understanding what Katie was saying. When it dawned on her, Hermione was almost certain she was going to be sick.

“ _What?_ ”

“It’s done.”

The room was spinning. Hermione’s knees could no longer support her and she sank to the floor with Katie easing her fall.

“When?” she asked dazedly. “How?”

“I have a friend who temps in the Auror department. She overheard the agent pegged as Harry’s partner talking about their first assignment. Agnes’ people are already on their way there.”

Hermione staggered to her feet and rushed for the door. She didn’t know where she was going or how she was going to get there, but she had to go _now_.

“Hermione! There’s no way to stop it,” Katie said, catching her in her arms and trying to gently direct her to a seat. “We’re a thousand miles from London.”

“Why would you keep this from me?” Tears were streaming down her face. She felt so betrayed. How could Katie look at her so sympathetically when she was the reason Hermione was hurting? “Why would you not tell me beforehand?”

“Because I knew you’d suffer a last-minute weakness of resolve,” Katie said sadly, stroking away her tears. “I know you love him, but this is more important than any one person.”

Was anything more important to Hermione than that one person?

“People might die, Katie.”

“People _have_ died. The right people. And the deserving will be saved. You have to break eggs to make an omelette, sweetie. We’ve talked about this. You know how and why change happens. The Ministry manipulated the system to take down Charles Blackfur and turned the people further against Dark Creatures. It’s time to play their game. It’s time to manipulate the manipulators.”

Hermione wanted to hate the young woman. But everything had already been set in motion, and if Hermione didn’t have Katie, what was she left with?

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we keep fighting, as we always have.”

“But Harry-”

“Will be fine, no matter what happens,” Katie assured her. “But to make sure, you have to go and do your part. You have to make him play his. Once his condition is revealed, you fight for him, just like you would if we weren’t a part of any of this. Go do what you do, sweetie.”

 _Oh, gods._ She was a part of this.

“We’re going to Azkaban.”

“No, we’re not. Hermione, look at me. We can be someone else tomorrow if it comes to it. Okay? Just you and me. Breathe, sweetie. We can go anywhere, be anyone. Hermione? _We’ll be fine_.”

 


	62. This Pleasant Chase

**Remus**

It took him a few tries, but Remus was finally able to mumble the spell that would release them both. The weight of paralysis evaporated and Severus’ limbs, still clutching a Remus that was no longer present, collapsed while Remus melted into the mattress, his chest heaving.

“Remus?” Severus asked, sitting up. His muscles were stiff but limbering with use. “How did you-?”

“Had to pull out,” Remus panted. His shaking hand rose to his stomach where Severus had rested against him. The skin there was slightly damp, but Remus couldn’t tell whether the spell had begun to leak or if he was simply sweating from the effort of breaking the Petrificus.

Severus’ eyes widened with realisation. He crawled over to lift his wand from Remus’ fingers and examine them both closely.

“Likely only a bit of seepage,” he muttered, “and caught early and treated, I’ll have mild flu-like symptoms at worst,” he reasoned out loud. “But if you hadn’t…”

Severus was overcome, his fingertips finding Remus’ face as he drew close to hover over it.

“How did you ever find the strength?”

The look on Severus’ face stole Remus’ breath. How often had he seen such tender intensity directed at Harry and grieved that it would never be his? And yet here it was, shining down at him, _for_ him.

“I’d move Heaven and Earth to protect you,” the werewolf vowed, his voice nonetheless weak. His hand found Severus’ wrist as the vampire’s had his earlier. Severus seemed touched by his sincerity and bent to kiss him sweetly, but Remus could tell he was distracted.

“Heaven and Earth,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled back. Remus hadn’t meant to echo Katie’s words, but he realised that he had.

“Wait here,” Severus told him. He rolled off the bed and pulled on his trousers, slipping his wand into his back pocket. He didn’t dress further, and Remus loved the sight of him hugged just so by well-tailored slacks but bare-chested. It was somehow more erotic than him being fully naked.

Remus rather felt bad for such thoughts. So much was going on. Severus might soon be ill. Remus was tremblingly weak. Harry was in danger. And yet, all Remus really wanted in that moment was for Severus to come back to bed and do to him what the werewolf had recently done to Severus. He could still feel the heady weight of the vampire’s tender look and he craved more of the same. When would they have a whole day at once without crisis where they could simply be and be together? He was so tired. He only wanted to sleep in Severus’ arms and worry about Harry tomorrow. Did the young man even care to return?

He recognized he was likely just still sulking over Harry’s neglect before, and he reminded himself that the young man was a victim; both of his well-meaning but grossly misguided friend and of a rival for Severus’ affection bent on self-destruction. Besides, Harry’s willingness didn’t enter into it. Like it or not, they were following, and Remus knew they were following soon.

Severus rushed from the room and returned a short time later with a number of phials. He drank two himself in quick succession before easing himself onto the bed beside Remus and carefully lifting his head to feed him a third. It was peppery and subtly sweet, and Remus felt his head clear with the small boost of energy it provided. It allowed him to sit up and drink another, much larger dose of medicine Severus handed him. Remus felt marginally stronger. At least, he stopped trembling.

“Temporary measures,” Severus muttered, unsatisfied. “But better than nothing.” He looked the werewolf over with concern. “How do you feel, my Remus?”

The man smiled to himself. He liked it, the simple possessive. He liked being Severus’ now as Harry had been for so long. The young man sometimes would claim to chafe under Severus’ possessiveness, but more often than not, he silently revelled in it. Remus understood that thrill. He didn’t mind being owned by this man. Not ruled by him, perhaps, but belonging to him was fine. It was wonderful. Remus answered him by hooking his hand behind Severus’ neck and pulling him in for a kiss. It was anything but chaste. Severus returned his unexpected passion for a moment before pulling back and rising from the bed, taking a step back as if attempting to escape the wolf’s embrace before he was swept away by it.

Remus, however, wasn’t finished with him. The restorative properties of the potions he’d drank were proving increasingly effective, and he slipped from the bed after Severus, his intention written clearly in his expression. Severus’ skin flushed as he met Remus’ eye, but he backed further away from the werewolf’s predatory advance until Remus stalked him all the way against the wall, a hand flat against it on either side of the vampire’s head.

“You’re feeling well, then?” he stammered. His smirk was shaky and his eyes heavily lidded as he stared at the werewolf’s hungry lips. Remus nodded. He dipped his face toward the vampire’s neck but found himself turned suddenly, pinned to the wall in Severus’ place.

“Just because I let you bugger me once doesn't mean I’m going to bend over for you whenever you please,” he said, his voice trembling but stern even as he allowed Remus to open the front of his trousers.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” said Remus, claiming the vampire’s lips and his wand at the same time. Severus allowed both.

“Remus,” he objected weakly as the werewolf whispered three prophylactic spells, one on top of the other, “there are urgent matters-”

“Then be quick,” Remus said, dropping the wand to the floor and turning to face the wall before pressing his still bare backside against Severus’ well protected and obviously agreeable crotch. There was no telling when they’d next have an opportunity for this, and Remus wasn’t willing to wait for something so uncertain.

Severus' hand came to Remus’ hip as if to restrain him.

“Don’t think, because you’re feeling under the weather, that I’ll be gentle,” he warned, his voice taut. The fingers at Remus’ side bit into it as the vampire struggled to cling to his rapidly crumbling self-control.

“I wasn’t counting on it,” said Remus, grinding back into the man, causing him to groan. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

After a moment more, Severus’ restraint snapped and Remus felt himself pressed into the wall with a growl that curled his toes. Then Severus took a step back, dragging Remus’ hips with him and shoving the werewolf’s head down to bend him over.

 _Holy Hell_. Remus never realised how much he enjoyed being so manhandled. He was not a small person, was not used to being with someone capable of manipulating him in this way. But despite being more diminutive, Severus was considerably stronger, even when Remus was perfectly healthy, and the contrast was surprising and so bloody arousing.

The vampire pulled away and Remus felt the cool drip of spit hit his cleft, sliding down to his opening where Severus’ cock met it. There was no other preparation. Remus drew a deep breath, opening himself as best he could as Severus sank insistently inside of him.

Remus felt himself tear and tried to flinch away, but Severus’ hands held him firm. He’d instructed Harry before to fuck him the way Severus fucks, so he wasn’t wholly unprepared, but the young man still had possessed more hesitance.

Remus didn’t hate it, though. In fact, he was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Not that Severus was unnecessarily rough. He didn’t pause but he wasn’t violent. And Remus did as he’d been taught. He remembered to breathe. He embraced the pain, and after a few steady, measured thrusts, Remus moaned. Severus responded by sinking further than before, and Remus bent forward even more, letting him in.

Severus didn’t hold back after that. He pumped the werewolf hard and fast, so that Remus had to brace himself against the wall with his elbows, his shouted moans echoing off the panelled surface.

 _Fuck_ , it was intense. And unrelenting. Not that Remus wanted it to relent. He reached back and grasped Severus’ thigh, urging him deeper, harder, while his other hand found his own cock, allowing his face and shoulder to bear the brunt of the force hammering him against the wall so he could fist his aching erection.

It didn’t last overlong. With a last few staggered thrusts, Severus finished first with a guttural moan, his cock throbbing as it pumped its prize into the prophylactic spells. Remus mourned that he was robbed of the sensation of Severus’ thick warmth spreading through him, but only for a moment. His hand clutched at Severus’ thigh more desperately, begging him without words to stay inside while Remus finished bringing himself off. No spell contained him, though, and he painted the panelling with his satisfaction.

Remus’ legs trembled, but otherwise, he felt fantastic. He released the vampire, needing both of his hands to help him climb back up the wall in order to return upright. The smile on his face was so wide and persistent it was almost painful, and when he turned to Severus, the vampire seemed surprised by it.

No, he realised. It wasn’t Remus’ grin. Severus was mildly overwhelmed by the whole encounter, his pupils blown wide and his fangs peeking. The vampire _had_ come exceptionally hard, Remus reflected, and the werewolf was extraordinarily pleased with himself. Severus looked at Remus as if he were some exotic creature. He didn’t seem to quite know what to do with his hands, and so Remus reached out his own and pulled him in for a luscious kiss.

“ _Excellent_ medicine. Thank you, Doctor,” he smiled, slipping from between the vampire and the wall. Remus swatted Severus playfully on the arse as he gingerly stepped away and over to his wardrobe.

“Alright, my sweet,” he said with a sigh, climbing into a clean pair of trousers. “Let’s go and collect the little shit, shall we?”

 


	63. Blood and Revenge are Hammering in My Head

**Harry**

Harry was exhausted. In body, in mind, in soul.

Soon, though, he could rest. Forever. He had one last task, and then this--everything--would all be over. He’d never looked so forward to the end of anything. Not even the war.

They’d been on the water for three days looking for the island. Of necessity, they spent their daylight hours below deck. Loraina hadn’t had a drop of potion since they left Hogwarts and it didn’t take long for the sun to turn on her. Though, she prefered it that way. She said she felt sharper and more powerful than she had in years.

Glutting on human blood had helped both of them in that regard. Harry had taken his last dose of golden elixir before the Full. It had never done much to alleviate the sear of daylight; he hadn’t been taking it long enough. But it had allowed him to remain himself while the moon was high.

For whatever that was worth. There wasn’t much of him left.

Harry tried not to think of who he had been. He no longer cared what more the mission cost him; the moment he’d set out on it, he’d lost everything that really mattered to him. What use was his sanity or humanity now? All he had left was Hermione, and once she was safe, he could let her go, too.

“Harry.”

Loraina beckoned him to the helm where she stood peering through the darkness. She never used any other address now. He’d earned her respect and, with it, his own name. When he took his place beside her, her arm slipped around his waist with absentminded familiarity. Harry leaned his hip into hers as he studied the darkened horizon.

“You think that’s it?”

“I can smell them from here,” she whispered, her eyes already black. Her lust for killing was like nothing Harry had ever seen.

But no. That wasn’t right. It was not the killing she craved, it was the battle. Loraina wasn’t a murderer, she was a warrior, and she’d been away from combat for too long. He had given her her last war, one worthy of her, and that endeared him to her.

“Can you not smell their blood, Harry?” she asked with a shiver. “This is it,” she said, her voice like the dusk at their backs.

Gone was the mania of a hunger underfed. Now that she was allowed to touch him, she no longer acted like a cat in heat, and her seduction was practically accidental. It was far more effective because of it. She slipped between Harry and the console, pulling his hips to hers by the band of his trousers.

“Are you ready? Are you prepared to end it?” Her hand slid to the back of his neck, but he resisted her pull. They both knew he wouldn’t resist it long. He never did. His own hand rose but only to brush the hair from her eyes.

Loraina was not who he had thought she was. She was not, he suspected, who Severus thought she was. Once she broke her shackles and was able to embrace her true nature, her insanity all but evaporated. The woman was fey and unpredictable, but she was far from crazy. The Madness had simply exaggerated behaviours to which she was already prone, which looked like mundane madness to those who didn’t understand them. The Blood didn’t change a person, Harry had decided, it simply made a caricature of them.

Harry thought perhaps that she had known this all along and hoped Severus would be able to see it as well. She was still the girl he’d loved, just more so. The two had shared enough memories since their flight that Harry saw that clearly himself. Her time in the forests had distilled her. She’d become perfectly herself.

In Dumbledore’s service, Severus had been similarly refined. But Severus refused to acknowledge it, refused to relinquish the last image he had of her those years before while the Madness was still fresh and her anger so raw. All this time--during the war and since--she hadn’t been mad. Not truly. She’d been frustrated to the point of recklessness, discontent and vocal about it in the only ways in which she was allowed. Such things had been mistaken for insanity in women since time immemorial.

Harry could feel that his eyes matched hers. The fading light shimmered, colours were more vivid. His vision was hunt-ready, catching even the tiniest hints of movement, like the way the blood pumping through the veins beneath her papery skin made it jump almost imperceptibly. He could indeed smell their quarry. Their musk was carried by the breeze even this far asea. Recent practice had left his senses well-honed. So close to the Full, it was the wolf who reigned, and the wolf’s nose was especially keen. He’d never tasted this scent before, though, and it thrilled him.

He’d supposed he had been the first. The only. But he was not. He was merely the quintessence, the monster perfected. He was about to meet his progenitors. He was about to kill them, in fact, and the anticipation of the taste of their blood stirred him, whet his appetite. There was no blood to drink here, no flesh to tear, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to devour.

He would not be compelled, however, no matter how persistently she pulled at him. She knew this. She liked it about him. She’d told him that she’d assumed, because of the nature of his relationship with Severus, that he wouldn’t care for such a role. Not that she minded taking control, but it had delighted her when he’d put up a proper fight...for her and not against her. She prefered to be conquered. Like him, she enjoyed submitting, though only after her partner had proven himself worthy of it.

Harry hooked his arm around her waist. She was such a little thing, so easy for him to snatch, yanking her to and up him, toward his lips. Strange that the most fearsome killer he’d ever met could be so easily lifted, could feel so weightless in his arms.

He didn’t love Loraina. He didn’t even like her, and he felt certain the feeling was mutual. But he respected her. And she had been right. She thawed the ice in his veins. Never mind that she was the one who had chilled his blood in the first place.  

 


	64. Entrails Feed the Sacrificing Fire

Harry’s rage blistered. It wasn’t just the sear of his torn muscles and the deep throb of his reshaped bones. His wrath engulfed him like flames. The heat of it rose to his face and filled his head till it threatened to burst. At times, he felt so buoyed by it, he was almost convinced he’d burnt himself to a cinder and was being lifted on the updraft created by the inferno that had reduced him.

The Beast within had long since been glutted to capacity. Instead, Harry fed this blaze, carving off and tossing in the pain he could not resolve to stoke it higher.

He imagined Severus in his lab; despondent, betrayed, alone. He ripped the image from him and used it to fuel the flare of claws and flash of fangs as he dispatched another of his predecessors. This one was even more pathetic than the last, far more animal than man. Harry had no sympathy for these alleged brethren of his. They were not victims. They had been pulled from a pool of willing martyrs, all eager for the opportunity to further the cause of Harry’s downfall.

Nevermind that they’d been lied to. The true goal of this grand experiment had been to hurt Severus, not Harry.

Being reminded that Severus was in pain lit his steps as he pelted through the trees, searching out his next casualty.

Loraina was with him, but this was his hunt. Until now, he’d had to restrain himself, leaving the killing to Loraina’s blades when at all possible. He'd reserved his monstrosity for instilling fear enough in their captives that they vomited forth the information they needed before she finally cut their throats. They’d both fed from the wounds she'd carved, but he’d not gotten to savour the deliciousness of ripping his enemies to shreds with his own hands.

Harry slowed to a stop and stared down at his bloody claws, and his flame wavered. If Remus could see him now…

Another of his kin descended on him from the branches of a nearby tree, thinking he was ambushing Harry. His feet never hit the ground. Harry caught him by the neck with a talon-tipped iron grip and held him aloft. But Harry did not see the face of the creature from which he slowly squeezed the life. Superimposed was Remus’ visage. Disgusted. Disappointed. Dismissive. The look in the man’s eye pierced Harry’s heart. He’d become exactly what his Mate had never wanted him to be.

Harry hadn’t wanted this, either. He’d had no choice! They had Hermione. She was innocent, dragged into this quagmire against her will. It was Harry’s fault she was in danger, and it was his attackers’ fault he was this monster, their fault he’d so disappointed his Alpha.

The young man’s fury reignited. Before he realized what he was doing, the defective bloodwolf fell with a thud at Harry’s feet, a portion of his furred neck still clenched in Harry’s hand.

For a moment, his savagery faltered, and Harry was himself again; yet monstrous in form but mentally the twenty-one-year-old man who matched wallpaper to drapes and still mourned the loss of broom rides in the Sunday sun. He shook the ambiguous mass of bloody flesh from his fist and cast about, suddenly lost.

How had he found himself here, murdering strangers beneath trees of a kind he’d never seen before except in photos? How many had he slaughtered already? He’d lost count. The island couldn’t possibly be able to support them. Not all of the bodies he’d seen that night were the result of his arrival. They must hunt one another. And now they hunted him, and vice versa.

Harry shivered and whimpered like a hellhound pup. He should be at home. With Remus. He could still feel the ghost of the gulf that had opened in him over a week ago. They had been stalking some destitute but formerly high-brow Voldemort sympathizer when Harry had collapsed. His weakness had come on so suddenly and unexpectedly, Loraina had had to carry him back to the vacant warehouse they’d decided to make their temporary home. Harry knew what the pain meant, even if he didn't know how he knew. It was as if half his heart had atrophied. His insides felt cavernous from the shrinking presence of his better angel, and he knew Remus was dying.

Even laid so low, Harry had tried to go to him. He would have crawled to Grimmauld if that was what it took. He’d have dragged himself through every gutter in the godforsaken city.

But Loraina had not let him.

“Why, Harry?” she had demanded, picking him up yet again to carry him away from the exit like some frazzled mother dragging her squirming tot from a candy display. “What difference does it make at this point? You being there won’t save him.”

“But I have to be there,” Harry had pleaded. “I have to be with him when he... _if_ he...”

“And have two deaths on your hands?” she'd asked sharply. Harry had looked up at her, horrified by the accusation. “Why else would he be dying except because he tried to find you? What if you go to him and she dies, too?”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the memories. Why hadn’t he realised they would encourage the men to follow rather than give them the peace of knowing where he’d gone? He’d been in such a rush. He hadn’t thought things through. Guilt curdled the blood still on his stomach from the massacre they’d committed only hours earlier.

“It is tragic,” she'd told him sincerely. She was more fond of Remus than she liked to admit. She must have been to consent to leaving Severus to him. “But what’s done is done. If you want to honour him, don’t let his death be in vain. Stay the course. You’ll thank me later, Lovely,” she had said softly, brushing the tears from his eyes as he lay helpless on the dirty, abandoned mattress where she’d just redeposited him. “When Hermione is free and whole and in your arms, weeping her gratitude, you’ll know I was right.”

She might have been, but that didn’t stop him from resenting her for it.

Harry dragged himself from the memory just as she caught up to him.

“We’re going to exhaust ourselves if we keep rushing about,” she said, jogging to a stop beside him to admire his handiwork. “We need to see if any of them can talk, can tell us where to find the bitch,” she said, nudging the dead man with her toe. “This place is too large for us to simply run around hoping to stumble across her.”

She suddenly disgusted Harry. What she had turned him into disgusted him. If not for her, he’d be home now, helping Remus recover from whatever had threatened his life. If not for her, Severus’ heart would not be broken and Harry would not be on this accursed island, ripping the throats from monsters. They had no idea if Hermione was even here. They had no way of knowing if she was still alive. None of the captives they'd interrogated had spoken a word about her. They were here for no other reason than because Loraina wanted to punish the woman who'd sought to harm Severus. Harry was here only because he was her executioner’s blade. She hadn't even intended to help him tie up the boat after they arrived.

“Let it drift. You know we’ll not be leaving.”

Harry had almost dropped the ropes in disbelief. “But Hermione will,” he had said firmly, giving her a leery scowl. “Once we rescue her,” he emphasized.

Loraina had met his demanding glare with almost no apology. It was as if she’d forgotten Hermione entirely. His friend had never been a part of her plans. Loraina was here for revenge and saving Hermione was an ancillary benefit.

“Efficient,” she nodded approvingly at the body at their feet.

Harry watched Loraina delight in the gaping rent in his victim’s neck, and with no real thought, Harry backhanded her, careful to avoid catching her with his claws but not trying too terribly hard to measure his blow.

She didn’t stumble far. As she straightened, a smirk curled her bleeding lip, and she was still chuckling when she reared back and struck him sharply across the jaw. She didn’t pull her punch, either, and the pain was impressive. Still, Harry hadn’t budged. He turned to snarl at her but otherwise held himself in check.

“Hate me later, Harry. We’re busy,” she said witheringly, nonetheless wiping the blood from her lip with her fingertip and smearing it across his bared fangs as if it were a peace offering.

And with that, it was if the altercation never happened. Whatever the reasons, they were there, and neither of them was likely to ever be leaving. They might as well finish what they came to do.


	65. A Speedier Course Than Lingering Languishment

“Slightly harder to get information out of these bastards than the ones back home,” Loraina muttered with a short, rueful chuckle before spitting a mouthful of blood to the sandy ground beside their latest kill. “Your pretty face doesn’t have quite the same effect here.”

She winced, pressing her hand to her side. Harry limped over to her.

The bloodwolves they’d met just after landing had been almost comically easy to dispatch, and it had occurred to him that their going was remarkably easy for a suicide mission. He realized now that was because they'd been the weakest of the bunch, half-starved and reckless from living on the fringes of the island, away from more prime hunting grounds.

As Harry and Loraina moved inland, their foes proved increasingly formidable. They were far more human, for one, and so more calculating. They were much stronger, as well; battle-proven alphas who were better fed and adept at defending their territory.

Harry nudged at her hand with his muzzle until she moved it, revealing three ugly gashes. It was abundantly clear why she had dragged him here. In a contest of ferocity and pure might, she was outmatched. She was strong and skilled, but without the threat of Skirmish Sickness to either party, the combat was more brutal and straightforward than she was used to. Fangs were no longer off limits.

Not that that would have mattered with the last one. His claws had torn through her leather bodice like tissue paper. Harry gave her wounds a charitable lick before reverting so they could talk. There was no swoon to ease his transformation, but at this point, pain was such a constant companion that a bit extra did little more than wind him.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll live,” she shrugged, seeming disappointed. She ignored her wounds to give Harry’s a look over. “Given enough time, that would scar,” she told him musingly. Instead of merely pointing to the tear in question, she tiptoed to return his wolfy gesture, swiping her tongue across his cheek. “Pity it won’t get the chance. It’d be an improvement, especially since your trademark has all but disappeared.”

“Are you saying I’m ugly?” he asked distractedly, searching the trees.

His concern for her had already faded, and he was puzzling over their next move. They were losing too much blood to be making so little progress. He was almost certain the last two bloodwolves they encountered had been capable of communication, but they had been less than inclined and strong enough to ignore their attempts.

“You are many disagreeable things, Harry,” Loraina purred, despite that Harry was paying her almost no mind. “Ugly is not one of them. Don’t act like you aren’t aware,” she chided. “No one likes false modesty.”

She seemed slightly frustrated that her flirtation was falling flat. She hadn’t put so much effort into it for ages. She hadn’t needed to. But that was when their road was longer and Harry required distraction. They’d reached the end of it now, and the time for diversion was over.

“You know what I mean, though,” she persisted stubbornly, admiring his bleeding face. “Not enough to disfigure, just to give you an air of danger and mystery. These are the kind of scars that get you laid, Harry.”

“Never had much trouble without them, to be honest,” he muttered, trying to step around her. She placed a splayed hand on his bare chest to halt him.

“Want to have a go now? Could probably fit in one last round.”

“But I hate you,” he reminded her off-handedly. There was no venom in it, it was merely a statement of fact. She smirked at him and pressed herself closer.

“Since when has that ever stopped you? Besides, you know what blood does to me,” she whispered, using her fingertips to paint with the red stuff still oozing from his myriad cuts.

Harry finally gave off scrutinizing the trees and looked down at her. He was accustomed to her manner, but it was starting to get on his nerves just at the moment.

Her hopeful gaze shined up at him, and Harry seized her by the hair. It was done up in a ponytail for battle and provided a convenient handle. He was not rough with her, merely firm, and Harry felt her legs give ever so slightly and saw her eyelids droop as she yielded to his control, her hand falling obediently away from his chest. She was breathless, eager to drop to her knees. He declined to command it.

“We’re not going to learn anything this way,” he said, eyeing her dispassionately. “The ones who can talk won’t. They know who I am.” He released her and stepped around her as he had tried to before. She heaved a disappointed sigh, abandoning her flirtation altogether.

“New plan, then,” she said, cleaning and inspecting her knives before slipping them back in their sheaths. “We head for the beach. Follow it. If they have a base, it won’t be in the middle of this monster nest,” she reasoned, stepping up beside him with her fists on her hips. “There’s an anti-Apparation spell on the island, so the only way to get supplies will be by boat. Which means there’s a port. And why would they set up shop all that very far from it?” She considered what she’d just said and nodded her approval to herself but then slipped into a frown. “Won’t be as much to kill on the beach, though,” she pouted. Harry was already headed in that direction, and she followed almost reluctantly.

“Haven’t had enough?” he asked her.

“There’s no such thing,” she said. “Besides, I thought it might be good to put them all out of their misery.”

“We’ve certainly made a dent in the population.”

Trudging naked and bloody through the tropical vegetation was not nearly as much fun as galloping through it on tough-soled paws had been, but he wasn’t up for another transformation just yet, and there was no vitality in their victim’s blood to help the process along.

Besides, talking was refreshing. Or rather, being able to talk. Harry’d spent so much time as the wolf lately, he was starting to fear he was losing the knack.

“Once we cut the head from the snake, surely they’ll die out. They’ve already stripped the island of almost anything with a pulse besides each other. Have you noticed?”

“I notice everything, Harry,” she said with a curl of her lip, not being subtle about admiring his backside as she stepped past him to help ease his path through the underbrush.


	66. I Rush'd Upon Him, Surprised Him Suddenly

**Harry**

Harry knelt in the surf and let the waves rinse the gore from him while Loraina waited behind on the beach. He’d expected impatience from her. The sun was on its way, and he sensed in her the same anticipation of imminent completion he felt himself. But she had said nothing. Perhaps she’d detected his weariness. As much as she coveted her impending doom, it would ultimately wait, at least for this.

The moment felt significant in a way Harry couldn’t put into words. The salty wash outlined all his many cuts with mild fire. He ran his hands through the swirling red that stained the water around him before it disappeared, swept out to sea. It was as if the sins that had produced that blood were being absolved by the primordial powers of those vast waters as they rinsed it away. Harry let himself submerge entirely, holding himself under the benedictory caress of the waves to complete his baptism, before slogging his way back to Loraina.

He was not as renewed as he might have hoped. Watery pink rivulets snaked their way down his body from the lingering wounds he could not heal because he could not feed. It wouldn't matter for much longer, though. Surely he wouldn’t succumb to them before then.

“Are you ready?” she asked him, uncharacteristically subdued. There was no guile in it, no riddle, and no taunt. When he nodded, she stepped closer and took his face in hand. She made him look at her, and when she was sure he really saw her, she repeated her question.

He was. He wasn’t sure if he’d feel sated when it was all over, but he looked forward to it ending either way. Harry knew he’d die having done the best he could, having fought as fiercely as he was able until the very end. Whether or not they managed to save Hermione, it will have been enough. Harry nodded again, more resolutely, and Loraina returned it before releasing him.

“The leeward side of the island looks to be in that direction,” she told him quietly, pointing North. “The port is most likely there. We landed opposite it. Just our luck, having had to fight the length of the place,” she muttered with a rueful curl of her lips. Harry smirked, but fondly. As if she’d have had it any other way.

They followed the beach toward the as-yet-hidden cove. The invisible barrier that blocked their path forward was heralded by a kind of electricity in the air that caused the hair on the back of Harry’s neck to stand on end, but that didn’t prevent him from colliding with the thing. There was no going around it. He ran his hand along the wards from the treeline to the waterline. They extended quite a ways further, into the sea.

“Do you think there’s a breach somewhere deeper in the trees?” he asked, stepping back to consider the unpassable nothing in front of them.

“I doubt it,” she said with a shake of her head. “Too dangerous. Some of these bastards are smart enough to find such a gate, and they are exactly the ones our hosts wouldn’t want to pass through it. Though, that doesn’t mean _we_ can’t get past the thing. I’m just concerned about how long it will take the others to realize the door’s open,” she said, drawing her wand.

Harry had almost forgotten she carried one. She’d relied on her blades since they arrived. He’d left Willy’s wand behind on the boat along with all his clothes. Like Loraina’s knives, the wolf had seemed a better weapon for this type of combat.

“We don’t want all the baddies we avoided by taking the beach to rush the cove,” she reasoned. “At least, not until our business is concluded. I know we’re being watched. Let’s just hope the rabble near the sands are too scared or too far gone to understand they could follow us.”

“Are you certain a spell can disarm it?” he asked, giving it a shove. It seemed every bit as formidable as the wards placed on Hogwarts Castle after the Dementor attack.

“They aren’t keeping out Wizards, Harry. They’re keeping out beasts. None of the bloodwolves we encountered possessed a wand, and I doubt that was by accident.” She stepped toward the barrier, testing it with her fingertips.

“Durable but not complex,” she said as if to herself. Then she bent and touched her wand to the wards just above the sand, muttering a spell under her breath as she brought it up and over their heads and back to the beach again, carving an unseen doorway. She ushered Harry through before following and repeating the process behind them in reverse.

“I thought you just said-”

“Theatre, Harry,” she told him, not breaking character by speaking to him in a murmur the way one would have uttered a spell. “Much harder to replace the thing than it is to punch through it. But there’s no reason our audience can’t be led to believe I’ve done just that. Might buy us some more time before they come poking around to inspect it,” she finished, stowing her wand and motioning for him to follow her to the cover of the trees, safe now this side of the wards.

They didn’t have to go far before they came across the first structure they’d seen on the island since they arrived. After fighting through long acres of untamed jungle, the sight of it was almost jarring, as if it did not belong.

The maintenance shed sat at the edge of a pristine, idyllic beach dotted with strategically placed lounge chairs and deceptively primitive-looking canopies. Not much further down the sands was a house. It was a small mansion, really. With its columns, it looked like an ancient temple had been retrofitted with modern amenities. The whole tableau revealed the pursuit of a particular aesthetic: unpretentious but staggering luxury. Considering what filled the trees behind it, its very existence seemed arrogant. But what did he expect of people who played at being God?

“Are you sure it was a good idea to skip the bath?” Harry asked, scrutinizing the browning crusts of gore streaking her skin with a disapproving eye. She wore the blood of her enemies like war paint. It was the only trophy she’d had time to keep. The smell of her was overpowering this close, and should the breeze shift, they might as well have set off a flare gun. There would be no hiding their location, much less their presence.

“I just smell like all those mutts we’ve gutted,” she shrugged. “Maybe that’s what they’ll think I am. Besides, we aren’t hiding, really. We’re merely scouting our approach. What does it matter if they know we’re here?” she said, checking her knives for readiness. “What could they employ that’s worse than what we’ve faced already? Odds are, they know we’re on the island. Or that someone uninvited is, at least. Since we’ve lost the element of surprise, perhaps we should see where fear gets us. Me like this, you in your true form, marching fearlessly up the beach together? They’ll soil themselves,” she said, a glimpse of her once everpresent, manic grin tugging at her lips.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that plan.”

“So stolid and practical,” she grumbled, giving him a critical look. “We might as well enjoy ourselves a bit before we die,” she said, nonetheless stepping back into the shadow of the trees and scrubbing at the worst of her warpaint.

“There are tracks,” he pointed out, ignoring her pout. “A bloodwolf. Too large for anything else.”

“This side of the wards?” she puzzled, stepping forward to examine them with him. “Something definitely patrols this perimeter,” she nodded, easing a knife from its sheath and eyeing the trees to either side of them.

But her caution came too late. Harry hadn’t been able to detect its scent over Loraina’s stench, but he heard it now: the steady, rumbling rhythm of air being drawn into and expelled from cavernous lungs through slavering jowls.

“Run!” he gasped to Loraina, turning to flee himself just as something massive exploded from the foliage behind them in pursuit.

 


	67. A Crimson River of Warm Blood

**Remus**

“You can’t keep reverting back and forth," Severus chided Remus, winded and stumbling over the body of their latest assailant to reach him. "At this rate, you’ll be spent before we find them.”

“The wolf keeps threatening to take over, even though I’m not transforming entirely,” said Remus, shrugging off both the man and his concerns.

“Let it. You’ll be stronger. We’ll move faster,” Severus persisted.

Remus shook his head adamantly. He understood Severus’ anxiety. He shared it. They were so close to finding Harry they could literally smell him. But it would do no good to sabotage the whole undertaking by being reckless now. He placed a hand on Severus’ chest and gently forced him to arm’s length, ignoring the man’s hurt expression.

“I’d be a monster. Severus,” he argued with a shudder, “I might not recognize you. Not as you. The vampire in him allows Harry to keep his head when he turns, but I don’t have that advantage. I...I don’t trust myself,” he admitted.

The confession shamed him, but Severus’ wounded leg spilled the scent of infection as well as blood, and it singed the werewolf’s nose even as they spoke.

“They turned here, anyway,” he pointed out, turning himself before Severus could reply. “I think they made for the beach.”

Severus did not press the issue, but Remus could sense his frustration.

“Their foes became too much for them, finally,” he observed instead, allowing Remus to lead the way.

“Thank the gods for that,” Remus muttered wearily. “They became too much for us two skirmishes ago.” As far as he could tell, there had been little to no planning by the pair they tracked. They seemed to have simply ripped headlong into danger, trusting their strength to see them through the gauntlet.

“We can’t be far behind. Their engine was still warm when we found it. If we hurry, we should catch up to them before...”

Neither of them wanted to articulate the rest of that thought, and so they pressed on toward the beach in silence.

Ostensibly, they were trying to reach Harry before he met his match, but Remus would have thought any number of the foes he’d faced already might have fit that description. Their initial worries seemed unfounded now. Harry was stronger than any creature Remus had ever encountered, and the aftermath of his rampage here continued to reinforce that fact.

What they actually feared--the real danger to the young man they loved--was already beyond their ability to mitigate.

The two had been following a trail of corpses like breadcrumbs, each more grisly than the last. A few showed the clean, sweeping slash marks of Rainy’s blades, but most were mangled. They didn’t look mauled so much as ripped to shreds. The Harry they knew, the one who had bounded so buoyantly from their bed when last they’d seen him, would not have been capable of such violence.

“What do you suppose we’ll be collecting, Remus?” Severus asked as if reading the werewolf’s thoughts. It was unsettling to hear the fear in his voice. Remus had watched Severus dispatch bloodwolf after bloodwolf, each more formidable than the last, with a cold and deadly efficiency only an unfettered vampire can achieve, and the man had never batted an eye.

“Does it matter?” Remus asked quietly, breaking through the last of the trees and onto the beach to follow Harry and Loraina’s footprints now rather than their scents. Severus’ answering silence was too concerning to ignore, though, and Remus turned back to him finally.

The vampire was struggling far more than Remus realised. His limp was not pronounced, but the man was so stubbornly stoic that the fact it showed at all made Remus suspect Severus’ injury was far more serious than he’d supposed. Still, Remus knew that was not the source of the pain he saw on the man’s face. He ignored the revulsion of the scent of Severus’ blood and attempted to draw him into his arms. Severus pushed him away.

“We can’t tarry,” he grunted, setting his jaw and trudging forward; but when his step faltered on the sandy terrain, Remus caught him and held him fast. Severus resisted for a moment before appearing to remind himself that the werewolf was the one person who had permission to see his weakness, and he softened, returning the other man’s tenacious grasp.

“Remus,” he whispered, seeming hardly to breathe. “What if there’s none of him left?”

“I’m not immune to it either, my sweet,” Remus said, squeezing Severus tighter to soothe his trembling. “But we can’t undo what’s already been done. All we can do is deal with the aftermath.” Severus nodded but could not meet his eye. “And we will,” Remus assured him. “Together.”

At the very least, whatever they found at the end of this trial, neither would have to face it alone. Between the two of them surely…

Remus was struck by a sudden dread that was so cold and piercing it dropped him to his knees. He dragged Severus with him.

This was not fear born of contemplation, though. It was altogether more powerful, more tangible. It was a sudden vacuum in his soul which his consciousness was too shaken to accurately define.

“Remus!” Severus gasped, laying him out on the beach to frantically search for the injury that felled him. Remus was reeling too much to explain that the wound wasn’t physical. He brushed Severus away and rolled to his stomach. He tried to find his feet, but his pain blinded him, sending him stumbling back to the ground.

“Damn it, Remus, what is happening?”

Severus tried to help haul the man upright, but the shifting of the sand, coupled with his injured leg and Remus’ flailing, made the effort futile.

“Ride me!” Remus managed to choke out past the lump in his throat. Severus released him in his surprise, and Remus settled to his hands and knees again to steady the spinning world.

“What?”

Gradually, Remus succeeded in focusing on Severus’ face. His expression was equal parts baffled and terrified and demanding. Remus drew a deep breath and reached up to grasp the man’s soiled robe front.

“It’s Harry,” he explained with difficulty. “He’s hurt, Severus.” Just speaking it made his stomach lurch. “Gravely. We have to hurry. You’re injured. There’s no time. _Ride me_.”

Fear and understanding kindled in the vampire’s eyes, and he nodded, stepping back to allow Remus to transform.


	68. Had You Not By Wondrous Fortune Come

**Severus**

It wasn’t as if Severus had never seen Remus transform entirely, but that had been years ago and before Severus had any reason to appreciate the process. Remus wasn’t silent as he changed, but he did not vocalize anything approaching the true agony he must be feeling. It was difficult for Severus to watch, difficult for him to hear. But it did not take long for Remus to emerge from it, the shredded remains of his clothes falling away to the sand below. Severus had forgotten how large Remus was in this form, how genuinely formidable he must be.

Gods, but he was beautiful.

The moon overhead washed his sleek, golden fur with cold fire, outlining the heft of his physique across his breast and haunches in silver flashes as Remus’ chest heaved and his legs readied to spring. There was so much restless power stored in the bunch of his muscles.

Severus had seen werewolves in Voldemort’s employ. As a rule, they were stringy and thin, strong but nothing like this. They were all Omegas or something like it, weak-willed followers in search of a master and easy pickings for the Dark Lord. But Remus was wholly unlike those wastrels begging for scraps. He was clearly an Alpha, confident and secure in his inherent power. His presence was commanding, and it was no surprise now, seeing him in this form, that Remus had succeeded in subduing Harry on his first Full despite how fearsome the latter was.

It was a pity he stank so. The pheromones he’d secreted since they’d landed on the island, released by his partial transformation of muzzle and claws, had turned Severus’ stomach, but it was nothing to the nauseating wave of wolf-stench Remus radiated now. It stirred Severus’ blood. The intrinsic loathing of his infection for the creature Remus was threatened to make a puppet of the vampire as it woke in all his veins and cried out for its ancient enemy’s demise.

It seemed they scented each other at the same time. Remus’ amber eyes cut to Severus, his fur springing upright the entire length of his spine, his lips curling back to reveal stretches of fangs like saw blades on either side of his muzzle. There was hatred in the growl that rumbled deep in the wolf’s chest, and Severus surreptitiously slipped his hand in his robe pocket to grasp his wand. His heart pounded as they regarded each other, waiting to see if the love their human halves felt for one another would be enough to override the instinctive hostility programed into their very DNA.

But the eyes that glared at Severus from beneath a hooded brow of blond fur were undeniably Remus’. Severus could do nothing about the blown black of his own eyes, but he kept his fangs hidden and forced himself to relax his posture. His friend was in there. Beneath the fangs and fur, his own gentle, nurturing Remus was there, and Severus reached out to him now, extending his free hand toward the mane that ringed the werewolf’s neck.

Severus thought he could tell that Remus was trying, was struggling to control his hostility. But when Severus was half a moment from closing the distance between them, the wolf prevailed and Severus only just managed to save his fingers from Remus’ snapping teeth.

He sprang back, not an easy feat with his injured leg on the sandy terrain, and tightened his grip on his wand. But Remus was almost immediately contrite. The shock of having almost caused Severus actual damage seemed to finally allow Remus to overcome his instincts. He whimpered, laying his ears back as if in apology, and Severus permitted himself to breathe again.

Remus turned his nose North, testing the air, and he let out a low, mournful howl before he padded over to the vampire and lowered himself to the sand, giving him permission to mount. Remus whined softly as if to beg him to hurry, but Severus couldn’t resist stroking the wolf once, soothingly between the ears and down the back of his long neck first.

Remus waited until Severus was settled, finding a seat in the slight curve of Remus’ back and a secure grip in the luxuriously thick fur above his shoulder blades, before rising to his feet, bearing the vampire aloft, and springing forward with a determined growl.

Never in his wildest imaginings could Severus ever have envisioned himself in this situation, riding a bloody werewolf, of all things, like a fucking battle steed. But it was glorious somehow, exhilarating despite the terrifying circumstances. Their power and purpose had never seemed more unified, their differences more reconciled. Together, they were assuredly a force to be reckoned with.

Remus sprinted up the beach, building speed as he went. Severus was able to register the invisible barrier they crossed only after they had passed through it. Remus’ head turned, then, to the trees, but just for a moment. Even Severus could sense their quarry did not lie there, though it might have passed that way. Harry awaited them somewhere further up the beach. Severus could smell him. He could smell his blood and that it was too strong, that worryingly much of it must have been spilled to the air for them to so easily track it.

Soon, they didn’t have to scent Harry’s blood as they could see it, curdling the sand between broken lounge chairs and pooling in the bottom of deep trenches carved into the beach by scraping claws. It was not only his, but enough of it was. They couldn’t afford fear at the moment, though. Severus translated his into fury as they streaked past the wreckage, past the beach house sitting dark and silent beneath the trees to their left, toward the short pier that jutted out into the cove where the noise of battle could be heard.

Further up the sands, Loraina dueled with Agnes, apparently unable to get close enough to employ her blades; assuming she had any left. Severus could see the hilts of at least three glinting in the fading moonlight as they protruded from the hairy side of the beast bearing down on a naked and bloody Harry laying unconscious at the edge of the surf.

Try as he might, Severus couldn’t suppress his panic. They weren’t going to make it in time. Remus ran with all of his might, but the distance shrank too slowly, and the monstrous bloodwolf stalked toward Harry with single-minded intention. They had to distract it.

The sand muffled the drum of Remus’ galloping footsteps, but Severus loosed a shrieking hiss which Remus followed with a barking growl of his own, and the bloodwolf’s attention snapped to the pair. It turned its back on Harry altogether in order brace itself for their approach. The unearthly roar it blasted toward them might have cowed even the staunchest of warriors, but it washed over the two of them like a gentle wave, effortlessly ignored. The creature stood between them and their Darling Dearest. No force on earth could alter the trajectory of their protective fury.

Without pausing to think, Severus drew his knees up, his toes scrambling to find purchase on Remus’ slick back as it rippled beneath him, waiting...waiting for them to draw close enough for him to spring. He pushed off of Remus’ broad shoulders, using the werewolf’s already significant momentum to help catapult him toward their foe. The resulting, molten pain in his injured leg was ignored, forgotten as he shot through the air like a spear, his fangs bared and hands spread like claws ready to tear the beast apart.

As he sailed toward it, the bloodwolf seemed to spread its arms as if in welcome, and a fraction of a second later, they collided. The impact drove the air from both their lungs, but neither relinquished their grip on the other. Their claws and fangs embedded themselves further into their enemy’s flesh with each skipping contact with the sands below as they tumbled, over and over, across the beach.

When they finally slid to a stop, Severus found himself beneath the creature. It was massive and utterly inhuman. Its weight pressed Severus deeper and deeper into the shifting sand with each lunge of its maw as it tried to clamp the slavering thing over the vampire’s throat. It took all of Severus' remaining strength to hold the creature back, its snapping teeth nonetheless claiming nips of his face and neck. Severus wouldn’t hold out much longer, but he wouldn’t need to.

In a blink, the bloodwolf was just gone. Remus had knocked the rabid creature from him. He hadn’t slowed in the least, and Severus heard bones crack as the broad expanse of Remus’ chest plowed into the fiend’s side with breathtaking force. There was no pause between the impact and the snarling flurry of teeth and fur.

The two battled furiously only feet from Severus, but to his shame, he couldn’t help. The vampire required a moment. His flight from Remus’ back had ripped the wound on his leg even wider, and that pain refused to be ignored any longer. His collision with the monster had cracked at least one of his ribs, and their spill across the sands had left Severus with a myriad of new gouges and scrapes and cuts as claws and teeth had attempted to find purchase in flesh as they rolled.

Severus struggled to a sitting position, his hand clutching feebly at a wound in his side which poured blood over his ineffective fingers. Harry lay some ways from him, not conscious but clearly stirring toward it. Much closer was Loraina who seemed to be losing her duel.

Despite all she’d done, it drove a spike through Severus’ heart to see her so battered. He could see the gore of a dozen bloodwolves staining her shredded clothing, recognized their scent from the corpses they’d encountered in the forest. She had to have been nearing the end of her strength before they even arrived here, and now she struggled against the other Witch’s onslaught, absorbing at least as many curses as she deflected or even cast. It was rather impressive, actually, the way she weathered spells that would have felled lesser Wizards. Severus had never realized just how formidable she was. As he scrambled to his feet, however, a blast from Agnes’ wand finally succeeded in knocking Loraina from hers, and Severus felt his hackles rise and his fangs extend. She may be the least of them, but Loraina was still one of the many of Severus’ beloveds on the beach that night.

Remus’ battle with the bloodwolf had not abated but was too frenzied for Severus to assist with. The werewolf did not appear to need his help, in any case. Harry was not in immediate danger. But Agnes threatened to escape, and Severus could not allow that. The pier and the boat waiting there were at Severus’ back. He stood between the bitch and the means of her escape. She would have to pass through him to reach it. And she wouldn’t be passing through him.

Once she was certain Loraina wasn’t about to rise again, Agnes turned on her heels to make for the boat only to find Severus, grim and bloody, blocking her path. She practically ran straight into his arms, and he could see the fear that ignited in her eyes as she realized it was too late for her to change course. Severus closed the distance between them with inescapable, vampiric speed, his hatred buffering him against the pain of movement, and he seized her upper arms with biting fingers to pull her face to his.

“Hello, Agnes,” he greeted in an icy whisper.

She didn’t struggle. She knew it was hopeless. Instead, she mastered her fear and smirked at the man restraining her, though it was shaky.

“Surprised you remembered my name.”

“I didn’t, actually,” he shrugged, eliciting a murderous expression from her before Severus knocked it from her face with the back of his hand. She slumped unconscious in his grasp, and Severus flung her to the ground. She wouldn’t be waking any time soon. Severus would have liked to have ripped her apart, but it wasn’t his place. No matter what remained of their Harry, whether or not it would drive him further down his road of damnation, her death belonged to him, should he choose to take it. Severus bent and wrested the wand from her fingers, straightening just in time to hear a strangled, pained yelp.

He spun toward the sound, his heart frozen with fear, but he found the bloodwolf laying motionless with Remus astride it, its neck clenched in Remus’ jaw. With one last shake for good measure, the werewolf let the dead thing fall from his mouth. He whimpered as he staggered away from it. His blond fur was stained all over with sticky red mats. Severus called out to him, but Remus paid him no mind. Instead, he limped his way toward Harry who seemed to be attempting to rise. The werewolf licked at his Mate’s wounds, ignoring his own.

“R-Remus?”

Severus’ eyes fell closed at the sound of Harry’s voice. It seemed so long since he’d last heard it. He’d feared he might never hear it again. Even though it was not the vampire's name he whispered, the sound was still sweet. If it had to be another’s, it was best that it was Remus’. The two of them were almost equally dear to Severus now.

It felt as if Severus finally had permission to breathe again. The bands that had slowly been tightening around his chest since Harry had disappeared could finally be allowed to fall away. He looked around him at the aftermath of their battle, the culmination of their journey. Agnes lay at his feet. The remains of what he assumed was the wretched woman’s brother wet the sand with its still seeping blood only yards away. Loraina lay unconscious but breathing beneath a nearby tree. Severus could see the tenacious glow of her heart blinking in its shadow. And they, he and Remus and Harry, were left standing. At least, metaphorically. Severus was so grateful he could weep.

Clutching his injured side, Severus shuffled his way toward his companions--his lovers--weary and ready to feel their embrace. Remus was still tenderly nursing Harry’s wounds as the young man struggled to wake properly. Though dazed, he met Severus’ eye, and the vampire watched as tears filled Harry’s. For a moment, he seemed unable to even breathe, but then he whispered Severus’ name. It was trembling and questioning, as if he could scarce believe the vampire was actually there. Before the man could respond, however, the wolf between them bristled. It turned to Severus with a low snarl, and the vampire's blood turned to ice in his veins.

He saw nothing at all of the man he loved in the beast’s amber eyes.

 

 

 

 


	69. Gracious Triumpher

**Harry**

He hadn’t died. This wasn’t a dream. He hadn’t been sure when he woke to find Remus licking his face. It had seemed too surreal. But if this were a dream, surely he wouldn’t be so keenly aware of the sand eating its way further and further into each of his many wounds. And that must mean that Severus really was there.

Harry had so many questions, but at the moment, he was too grateful for their presence to ask. He hadn’t dared to hope he might see either man ever again.

“Severus?”

The Potions Master seemed to wilt with relief at the sound of his name, but his reply was cut short by Remus’ growl. Why would Remus growl at Severus? Harry turned a questioning look to the vampire, but Severus was not looking at him any longer. All his attention was on the wolf that turned menacingly to face him, and there was hurt in his eyes. More than that, there was fear.

“Remus, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, reaching out to stroke the retreating werewolf. He did not react at all to the sound of his name.

“Remus? Remus, stop,” Harry admonished, grasping weakly at the wolf’s blood-soaked fur as if that might slow him. All it seemed to do was agitate him further.

Remus’ growl deepened, became more threatening, and though his injuries screamed, Harry forced himself to move. He scrambled to his knees to seize Remus around his middle in hopes of slowing his advance, but his feeble efforts were ignored, and Harry was thrown forward onto his hands and knees as Remus stalked slowly but steadily toward the vampire.

Harry cast a panicked look to Severus. Why wasn’t he running? The man hadn’t moved, but he wasn’t standing his ground, either.

Severus was giving up.

He was hurt, Harry realised. There was blood on his face and neck that must be his own, and Harry was sure the man’s torn black robes must be hiding even worse damage. But that wasn’t what rooted him in place. Harry had seen that expression before. It seemed a hundred lifetimes ago, but it had been only a few months prior, as Harry had flooed away from the man the day he’d passed his Auror exams. Severus’ expression held the same defeat it had then, the same profound grief. The Potions Master’s heart was broken, and it wasn’t Harry who had broken it this time.

Harry didn’t have time to wonder why all of this was happening. He merely knew that Remus was dangerous and that Severus wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t going to defend himself, so Harry would have to do it for him.

There was only so much pain one could ignore before it stopped being a matter of willing oneself to power through it. At some point, the body simply ceases to obey. As Harry staggered to his feet, his pain blinded. It felt as if he were being attacked internally by a thousand tiny knives which he knew to be grains of sand irritating his open wounds. He lost whole seconds of consciousness, waking to find himself back on the ground and having to start again. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he tried again. And again. Until finally, when he found himself falling once more, it was at Severus’ feet.

“Harry, I said don’t!” Severus cried, nonetheless helping him to rise, though the man was almost as weak as Harry was. “You need to get back, Dearest. Quickly!”

“He won’t hurt me,” the young man assured him. Indeed, the wolf was concerned. Whenever Harry’s body shot through with new pain, it whimpered. But that didn’t distract Remus from Severus. If anything, he seemed to consider the vampire even more of a threat now, and he attempted to circle around so that Harry was no longer between them. Harry couldn’t let him.

Once he was properly on his feet, things were easier. He stepped away from Severus to confront the wolf, unsteady but determined. Harry didn’t want to hurt Remus, either. It made his stomach roil even considering it, but he refused to allow Remus to come any closer to Severus. If he truly wished the man harm, Remus would have to kill Harry first.

The young man realized, now, what must have happened. He spied his dead enemy on the sand and Remus’ blood-matted fur, and he understood. Remus had transformed outside of a full. There had been no Wolfsbane to teether him to his human self. He’d lost touch with it in the frenzy of battle, as Harry almost had several times that night. Remus was purely The Wolf right now, defending his injured Mate from an eternal enemy. There would be no reasoning with him. Harry had to speak the only language Remus understood at the moment.

Harry hadn’t the energy to manage a complete transformation, but he pushed himself as far as he could. He felt the tips of his fingers sprout razor-sharp claws, felt his muzzle extend far enough to accommodate an additional few fangs. The wolf yipped at him as if scolding him for wasting his fading strength. It paced restlessly, alternately whimpering and snarling as if to say, ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I will. I know best. Trust your Alpha.’

Harry answered him in a roar. Though it was not as fearsome as it would have been if he’d changed completely, it still communicated his challenge. The wolf was unsettled, but after a moment’s deliberation, it seemed to have had enough of its partner’s foolishness, and it lunged.

Harry felt his claws open the side of Remus’ face, and the wolf stumbled back in hurt that was not strictly physical. Harry roared again, louder than before. ‘Your will will not prevail this time,’ it said. ‘Stand down.’

With no further challenge, the wolf before him folded its ears to its bowed head, and Harry felt the shift deep within him. Remus was no longer his Alpha, he was Remus’. Relieved that no further violence would be necessary, Harry released his transformation and fell to the sand with human hands and a mouth that could speak. He had relinquished the form, but he retained the Wolf’s resolve. He projected it on Remus now, unquestionable even in his frail state.

“Let go of it, Remus,” he commanded him quietly, communicating with something more than words. “Come back to us.” And with a whine, Remus did.

Harry could allow himself, finally, to rest. He was utterly spent. He felt Severus help him to settle fully onto the sand, but the Potions Master did not linger long at his side. As Remus finished transitioning back to his human self, Severus kissed Harry’s hand, stroked his cheek and gave him a tender, tearful smile; but then he staggered away from the young man and over to their companion.

“Is it you again, My Remus?”

Harry’s eyes had drifted to a close, but his brow furrowed at the address, confused.

“My gods,” he heard Remus murmur, his voice trembling with horror and shame. “Oh, Severus. I am so sorry, my sweet. ”

Harry felt as if he were dreaming again. His tired mind was hardly able to process what he was hearing. He felt sure he must be imagining it. But when he finally managed to pry open his eyes and turn his face toward the two, he found them clinging to one another. He saw Severus grasp Remus by the back of the neck to press their foreheads together. He watched, disbelievingly, as Remus pulled the vampire to his lips.


	70. Villainies Ruthful to Hear, Yet Piteously Perform'd

**Harry**

“I knew it,” he breathed to himself. Harry felt a smile lift his cheeks as consciousness slipped from him again, perhaps for the last time. It was alright for him to let go now. Severus and Remus would take care of one another, just as Loraina had said. Darkness beckoned, but as he greeted it, a delicious warmth spread across his lips, distracting his descent.

“Remus, can you afford this?”

It seemed he heard their voices from a distance, echoic and faint.

“I have to. Severus, I think he might die otherwise. Besides,” Harry heard him say as a drop of the warm something fell through his lips, exploding against his tongue like a tiny miracle, “I’m not as bad off as I look. You and Harry weakened the thing quite a bit before we ever clashed.”

The warmth became liquid fire. Soon it poured steadily into Harry’s mouth and down his throat, setting him aflame as it went, forcing the darkness to recede. It wasn’t enough, could never be enough. Still, it burned away his fog and Harry’s eyes fluttered open to see Severus and Remus hovering over him, one stroking his hair while Harry nursed the other’s bleeding wrist.

“Better, Darling?” Remus asked when he finally reclaimed his arm.

Harry nodded, though he wasn’t sure he was being truthful. His wounds hadn’t all sealed, but they had stopped bleeding. He wasn’t up to facing any more bloodwolves that evening, but death no longer seemed a foregone conclusion. At least, not yet.

Though his touch was gentle and his eyes worried, Severus’ voice was severe.

“You are in such trouble, young man,” he intoned, causing Harry to shiver. “Precisely how much, you will discover when we get you home.”

But Harry hadn’t decided if he was going home. Not that it would do to mention it at the moment. He could hardly imagine wearing clothes again much less returning to civilisation. Surely, Harry’s life now could only be blood and the pursuit of carnage. He was a beast and no longer fit to even attempt to pretend otherwise.

“Patience, my sweet,” Remus said, helping Harry to sit up and urging him to rest against him. “He may need considerably more healing before you’re able to mete out any punishments.”

“What luck,” supplied Loraina as she shuffled toward them, dragging a bound woman across the sand behind her. "This meal should finish the job nicely."

Harry recognised the Incarcerous spell that restrained her, but he did not recognise their prisoner.

He was surprised to realise how glad he was that Loraina had survived. He'd lost track of her after the bloodwolf attacked and had almost forgotten her entirely in the aftermath. She was worse for wear, but she was not nearly as damaged as Harry was.

His companions, however, did not seem to share his relief; certainly not the man who held him. Remus growled at the sight of Loraina as if he had not yet entirely shaken the wolf. Severus fixed her with an unforgiving scowl but nonetheless rose to his feet to subtly position himself between the two.

“I’m sure Agnes here would be honoured to help along the healing process,” she said brightly, ignoring both men to lock eyes meaningfully with Harry.

_Agnes._

They’d heard her name from several terrified lips. The Boss was powerful, influentially speaking, but hardly respected and universally unloved. It hadn’t taken much to convince her minions to talk once Harry and Loraina finally made their way far enough up the chain of command, but almost no one had known where to find the villain or whom even they might ask. It had taken them over two weeks of bloody detective work to finally track down the one man who, rumour had it, dealt with The Boss directly.

Remus allowed Harry to extricate himself and stagger to his feet as Loraina tossed the helpless woman before him in offering.

 _Finally_.

“Where’s Hermione?” he demanded, his voice cold and hard; a warning that Harry would not be merciful. Beside him, Remus gasped.

“Gods,” he murmured. “Severus, he still doesn’t know.”

Harry’s glare at the woman faltered and his eyes fell closed, but he was too heartsore to turn and ask what Remus had meant.

What else could he mean but that Hermione was already dead? That must have been why they’d come, to try to head off Harry’s fool’s errand. They had found Hermione’s body, and all of this toil - all of this blood - had been for nothing. Harry threw a sickened look to Loraina, but maddeningly, she merely shrugged.

Of course. This had never been about Hermione. Not to her. It had always _only_ been about the toil, about the blood. It had been about _Agnes_. But before Harry could lay into Witch, Loraina’s prize found her voice. It was bitter, the acidic drone of one who knows they are about to die at the hands of those they hate.

“They lied to me,” she sneered. “They told me they’d fix you. Not that I’d have minded you being cursed, but I _needed_ them to fix you,” she told Harry angrily. “Doesn’t matter now, I suppose,” she said, throwing a defeated glance at the corpse of her guard dog which lay at Severus’ feet.

Harry was too ill and exhausted to make sense of what she was saying. Why in hell would she want anyone to fix Harry? There was no question that Agnes was the one who’d infected him. They’d personally killed the henchmen she’d hired to do the deed.

It didn’t matter. Harry didn’t care. He only cared about one thing.

“Where is Hermione?” he repeated dangerously. He wanted to hear it from her own mouth. He wanted her to confess the murder so he could pass sentence and be done with it.

“Harry,” Severus cautioned, reaching out to him. But he needn’t look so pained, needn’t worry how he would break the news. Harry knew, he just wanted Agnes to speak it aloud.

“How the fuck should I know?” she spat. “I’m not the bitch’s keeper. It’s Katie’s job to keep her distracted. Granger hates this place,” she smirked, “which is one of the reasons I never leave it. She refused to step foot here again once she found out about the experiments.”

Before Harry could react to the pronouncement, Severus cast Silencio on the woman, and Remus was suddenly at Harry’s side, reaching to comfort him. The young man shied away from his touch, the weight of his confusion causing him to sway on his feet. Harry could no longer ignore it.

 _What in hell was happening?_ Nothing at all made sense.

“What?” he said, scowling at the woman. “Wait, _how do you know Katie?_ ” he demanded despite that he knew she couldn’t reply.

“Harry,” said Remus, seeming to choose his words carefully, “there are some things you should know. But...they’ll be difficult for you to-”

“Oh, my,” Loraina gasped, cutting him off. All eyes turned to her, and she squinted at each of them in turn as if watching pieces of the puzzle fall into place. She barked out a laugh. “I should have just killed her,” she said to herself with a shake of her head.

“Loraina, shut up,” Severus snarled, but it had absolutely no effect on her sudden, baffling mirth. She drifted off into contemplation for a moment before dissolving into a full-blown laughing fit.

“Oh, gods,” she wheezed, doubling over with hilarity. “I _could_ have killed her! And honestly, I’ve wanted to for so long now, too,” she confessed, gasping for air. “The tedious hussy.”

“Loraina, if you value your life, it would be best if you stopped talking,” Severus warned through clenched teeth. “Immediately.”

But she mustn’t stop.

“Killed her? Killed who?” Harry stammered, unable to process - really - anything at all that had happened since Remus pulled him back from the brink. He was reeling. His confusion was suffocating. He needed to understand whatever it was they all clearly already knew.

“Loraina, what in hell are you on about?”

“I was going to tell you anyway, Lovely, once this bitch was dead,” she shrugged, kicking Agnes absently in the side. “Interesting new wrinkle now, though,” she mused.

“ _Loraina_.”

“Why are you shielding her, Severus?” Remus chastised, scowling critically at the other man. “Let her tell him what she’s done.”

“He’ll kill her,” Severus argued, returning the man’s consternation.

“ _I_ might kill her!” Remus snarled with uncharacteristic hostility.

“Will someone just tell me what the fuck is going on?” Harry bellowed, at the end of his tether. The two men shared an uncomfortable glance, but it was Loraina who answered.

“Hermione’s fine,” she shrugged to Harry, taking a cross-legged seat on the sand, obviously unperturbed by discussion of her death. “Well, she will be until you catch up with her, that is.”

Harry didn’t reply, and she rolled her eyes at his stubbornly bewildered expression.

“You never were very clever,” she sighed. “It was me, Harry,” she said, leaning toward him as if sharing a secret. “I sent you the parcel.”

Parcel?

 _The_ parcel.

Harry rejected what he was hearing, more in an attempt to preserve his sanity than in disbelief.

“No,” he argued, adamant. “No, that was definitely Hermione’s blood.”

“Of course, it was. I had to make it believable,” Loraina said as if that should be obvious. “She caterwauled something awful when I pricked her arm to collect it. Not nearly as much as when I snipped that curl, though. I really don’t understand why she’s so attached to the ratty mess,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Harry thought Severus might be speaking to him, but the young man couldn't absorb what was being said. He stared at Loraina but didn’t really see her. He was too distracted trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was the one who had sent the parcel. _Loraina_ had owled him a box of Hermione’s blood-soaked hair.

“You mean to tell me,” he demanded, still grappling with the revelation, “that you’ve lied to me this whole while? You knew,” he went on, his voice rising, “that Hermione was in no danger?”

That’s why she had never asked their prisoners about her. _Not a word_ when she interrogated them while Harry could not because he was busy loosening their tongues with his hideousness. She had dragged him all over creation, had led Harry to believe his best friend’s life was in his hands. Hell, just hours ago, she had allowed him to tie up the bloody boat, thinking it might be needed, all the while knowing no one would be coming back for it.

Loraina watched as he processed everything they had done together over the past few weeks, watched as Harry’s rage built slowly, stuttering his breath and making his body tremble.

“Got you out the door, didn’t it?” she said, crawling to her feet. Her expression was entirely devoid of repentance. Harry glared at her, struggling to master the urge to call the Beast. He had no doubt he would soon, but he had more to say before it robbed him of the power of speech.

“Besides, you heard her in Minny’s office yapping about revolutions,” Loraina scowled as if annoyed that Harry was making such a big deal of things. “She wanted to use you, Harry!” As if Loraina’s actions had been altruistic. As if all this were for Harry’s sake. “She would have made your pain a pawn in her politics,” she spat, growing steadily angrier herself. She chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. “Oh, I thought I knew her game, but I had no idea how vast the board. I wanted to show her what being used felt like, so I harvested her bits and left her bound in the Shrieking Shack. But like I said,” she sneered, disappointed in herself, “I should have just killed her.”

Her absolute hypocrisy threatened to make Harry ill.

“Gods,” he shuddered. “ _You_ used me, you _utter_ bitch.” He grimaced, disgusted. “You played me for a fool. You took me away from Severus!”

“You are an albatross around his neck,” she interrupted in a hiss, reflecting his condemnation. But Harry had only just begun his tirade and wouldn’t be distracted.

“You kept me from Remus when he was dying! He was fucking _dying_ , Loraina,” he shouted, practically frothing at the mouth now. “A part of my own soul almost withered away, and you wouldn’t let me bid it farewell. All for the sake of a fake rescue?” The pain of it woke in his memory afresh.

“Oh, ‘What if you go to him and she dies, too?’” he mimicked sneeringly. “ _That_ horseshit, while I pleaded with you to let me go to him.” Harry was shaking so hard he could barely speak. “All of this!” he spat, waving a hand to their blood-soaked battlefield and the soldiers left standing on it. “Remus thinking I didn't care about his pain, Severus thinking I don’t love him as much as my vengeance?”

He turned to the Potions Master then, his expression wretched.

“Nothing means more to me than your love, Severus. I would give my life for the sake of it. But it wasn’t my place to sacrifice Hermione’s,” he said, imploring him to understand, to believe him.

“And you knew,” he went on, turning his venom back to Loraina. “You knew I’d have no choice but to save her. All of this blood...” he said with a shake of his head, gesturing to the wet stains that covered them all.

“Yes, well,” she interjected peevishly, “the boys here wouldn’t have come to any harm if you hadn’t left them those shiny trinkets.”

“All of those murders!”

“Oh, I don’t know what you’re whinging about,” she huffed, throwing her hands up. “I did most of the killing! Well, of the humans, at any rate.” The gravity of the situation seemed lost on her. She showed absolutely no respect for Harry’s justified outrage. “Granted, the thing with the mutt was unfortunate,” she conceded. “Truly, Remus, I like you,” she told him. “Almost put me off my blood to hear you were ill.”

“Don’t you dare speak to him,” said Harry, seething at her audacity.

“You know why I couldn’t let you see him off. You’d have never left again, and _we weren’t finished_ ,” she shouted as if frustrated at having to explain it. “Yes, I lied to you, Harry,” she shrugged, “but Remus is fine. Look at him. Quite fit, actually,” she added, raising an eyebrow approvingly at his nakedness.

Both Harry and Severus muttered angrily under their breath, taking a warning step toward the smirking woman; but Remus intercepted the Potions Master, drawing him away from the other two with a shake of his head. Unhindered, Harry stomped closer. She didn’t flinch, even when he drew close enough for his angry words to buffet her face.

“We killed a dozen people, Cobs!”

Why wouldn’t she show even the slightest hint of regret for what she’d done, what she’d led him to do? Harry hated this, but he didn’t want to hate Loraina. Not truly, not purely; though she was leaving him little option.

“Those murders were each earned several times over,” she replied, as icy as he burned. “So what if it took losing your precious Mudblood to get the ball rolling? Every drop of blood we spilled was owed to you,” she told him with complete conviction. “Her blood is, as well,” she said, stabbing a finger in Agnes’ direction. “Go ahead, Harry. Kill her,” she urged. “Claim what is rightfully yours! And do it for yourself, finally. Admit it’s what you want and stop hiding behind this farcical crusade. Own it!” she spat angrily. “Be a man.”

“I am no man, you mad bitch! I am a fucking monster,” he keened, near to tears with the painful truth of it. “And you’re the one who made me this way.”

“Then take my blood, as well, Harry,” she said. The tone of her voice was familiar. It was the seductive command she employed when the bloodlust was thick and Harry’s resistance was at its weakest. “You said it yourself. I played you for a fool, Lovely. I owe you,” she intoned. “Collect already.”

“Harry, wait,” Severus cried as Harry seized her by the throat, tears trickling down his cheeks even as his lips curled back in a snarl.

“Loraina, enough!”

“ _Severus_.”

Harry didn’t have to see Remus’ scowl, he could hear the disapproval in his voice.

“He should know everything, first,” Severus objected.

“You just don’t want him to hurt her.”

Loraina smirked tauntingly at Harry as they argued. No doubt she could feel the murderous impulse causing Harry’s fingers to twitch around her neck. She mocked the heartbreak in Harry’s eyes. They were never lovers in anything but a physical sense, but he had honestly thought they had shared a bond, that they had respected each other as comrades in arms. Knowing, now, how hollow their relationship had been gutted him.

“Of fucking course, I don’t want him to hurt her! But that’s not the point. He has a right to know-”

“Shut up, Severus,” Loraina snapped, done with their bickering. “Harry and I have unfinished business.”

Harry shook his head at her, begging her not to make him do this.

“I tricked you,” she whispered spitefully, declining his entreaty. “I betrayed you. Hate me, Harry.”

“Oh,” he shuddered, “I do.” Whether he wanted to or not, Harry hated the woman with his every fibre. He craved her death. He fantasized about watching the spark fade from her eyes as he crushed the life out of her.

“Harry, please,” Severus begged, having freed himself from Remus and drawn closer. “She deserves to answer for her crimes, I’m not implying that she doesn’t. But this…”

“Don’t listen to him,” she said, panic flashing across her face as Harry’s fingers relaxed from around her throat.

“I’m not,” he told her, flinging her away from him in disgust.

“Then why aren’t you killing me?” she shrieked, scrambling back to her feet.

“Because you want me to,” he said, returning her glare. “That’s why you dragged me here, isn’t it? Why would I give you what you want?” he sneered, shaking his head as he turned to walk away from her.

“Harry Potter!” she screamed at his retreating back.

Harry ignored her hysterics. He needed to get away from her, from all of them. His disappointment sat like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

“I turned you into a monster, remember?” Loraina called after him, trying to get a rise. “I let Remus think you didn’t care whether he lived or died. I carved up your pet Mudblood. Harry!” she cried, seeming to grow more desperate with each step that carried him further away from her. “I made you betray Severus. Tell him,” she dared. “Tell what we did on Knockturn, slathered in blood and overwhelmed by the lust of killing.”

Harry flinched, repulsed now that he’d ever touched her in that way, but he resisted the impulse to turn to see Severus’ reaction.

“Tell him,” she taunted, seeing she’d struck a nerve, “how you fucked me against the wall at Moribund’s while our victims lay cooling at our feet. On the very same night you left them both spent in your bed, no less.”

Harry stopped and shut his eyes against the memory, but it played unbidden, anyway.

“And don’t you dare argue that I manipulated you. It was only a matter of time before you abused Severus' faith... _again_. If not me, it would have been someone else, just as it was the mutt before me. You are poison to him,” she hissed, unmistakable hatred in her voice. “You eat him alive from the heart out. He’s a shadow of his former self. Because of you,” she accused.

Harry didn’t bother contradicting her. He had nothing to offer in his defence. He merely hung his head and continued his slow escape.

“Don’t ignore me, you arrogant little shit! Come back here and finish what we started!”

Harry heard the zing of a blade being drawn from its sheath, but he resolved to wait until the last possible moment to face her, when she could no longer be ignored. He wouldn’t kill her until she forced his hand.

But the moment never seemed to arrive. By the time he finally turned, Harry found Severus now stood before her, and Harry's heart forgot to beat. The two were chest to chest, unmoving, and blood dripped to the sands between them.


	71. 'Tis Present Death I Beg

**Severus**

He and Loraina locked eyes, their stares mutually stunned, and neither of them dared to breathe. Severus felt wetness saturate the front of his robes, curiously cool despite what it was. It coated the fingers of his hand trapped between them. Time seemed to be suspended, the moment entirely surreal, until Loraina released the breath she was holding in an explosive puff, spraying the Potions Master’s face with her blood.

All at once, time resumed its forward march, seeming to sprint to make up for its detention, and Loraina was falling before Severus thought to prevent it. He sank with her to the ground and pulled her into his arms, unable to stop staring in horror at the knife that protruded from her chest, unable to fathom that he had been the one to put it there.

“No,” he gasped. “Loraina?”

One would think he would be inured to the sight of blood. But this wasn’t just any blood. This was her blood, and there was so much of it. The shocked expression had not yet left Loraina’s face, and she turned it to consider the blade that pierced her, a weak smile tugging at the corner of her mouth even as a trickle of red slowly began to leak from it.

“No, no, no,” Severus stammered. He wanted to pull out the offensive thing but didn’t know if he should - if that would make matters worse - and his trembling hand hovered, indecisive.

 _Oh, gods._ What should he do? How did he fix this?

Loraina turned her amazement to the man who held her, and her smile widened.

“My love, I didn’t mean it,” Severus cried quietly, anguished. “ _Please_ , I... ”

_What had he done?_

He had been so relieved when Harry had spared her, but then she had reached for the blade sheathed behind her back, and he had known what the look in her eyes meant. At his feet lay the dead bloodwolf, one of Loraina’s knives sticking from its side. Without thought, Severus reached out to grasp it as he strode past on his way to position himself between Loraina and Harry’s certain murder.

But this? He had never intended this, surely. He’d only wanted to stop her. He had needed to stop her, but…

He reached to stroke her hair in apology but noticed his hand was slick with her blood, and so he shied his touch, his fingertips nonetheless leaving tentative red tracks where he caressed her face instead. He felt he would be sick. The world lurched.

“I am so sorry.” He could not stop shaking.

Her teeth as she smiled at him were stained red. “For what?” she asked, speaking with effort. She seemed genuinely confused. How was it that there was no condemnation in her eyes?

“For everything,” he whispered miserably.

Ever since he’d eavesdropped on Harry’s memories of her, Severus had ached to talk with Loraina. He had needed to tell her that he understood why she’d done this terrible thing. That he knew, now, that he had hurt her in ways he’d never intended and could never undo.

“I’m sorry for failing you. For not loving you enough.” He wondered, now, how that could have been possible when all he could feel for her at the moment was love: crushing and familiar and profound. “I’m sorry for breaking you,” he wept, forcing the words past the pain that seized his chest and arrested his breathing, “and not putting you back together.”

As Remus had done for him. As he would do for Harry. As he should have done for her all those years ago.

“But you’ve made up for it, my love,” she told him. Her voice was thick, her words coming slowly between ragged, hard-won breaths. “You may have failed me, but now you’ve freed me.” There was contentment in her shuddered sigh despite the pain that pulled at her features. “I’m so glad it turned out to be you,” she said, her fingers searching for his face but too weak to reach him.

Severus gathered them gently in his own and assisted them to his lips. He felt so helpless. He tried and failed to return her serene smile.

“I have always loved you,” he confessed, pressing his cheek to her palm.

“I know,” she whispered. The quiet surety of the statement crushed the remaining pieces of Severus’ heart. “And I you. But now you need to stop, Severus,” she told him with gentle firmness. Speaking seemed to become easier for her as she relaxed into the inevitable. “Love cannot warm a dead woman.”

Severus’ eyes fell closed and he felt tears cascade down his face, but he forced them to open again. He couldn’t waste this fading opportunity.

“Give my share to Harry,” Loraina said after a moment’s thoughtful reflection. “I wanted to hate him, but he does so try. Besides, I have a debt I need to pay, and I feel that might cover it.”

Severus grimaced at the request. He felt as if he might implode. He wanted to scream at her to stop this, to fight. But he knew the effort would be futile even if she’d been willing to make it, and so he merely nodded.

“Kiss me, though,” she whispered. The hand not caught in his punctuated the desperation of the request by clawing feebly at his robes. “One last time. Then, I can go.”

“But I don’t want you to,” he whined, dissolving into sobs and clutching her to him. It was uninhibited by self-consciousness or the habit of restraint. And it was selfish, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He felt lost and alone and unsure what to do with all of this pain.

“But I will anyway,” she said with the patience of a mother to a frightened child. Patience she couldn’t afford, and she knew it. “So grant me this before I do,” she said more urgently, tears springing to her eyes finally. “ _Please_ , Severus.”

Severus had never been able to resist such a heartfelt entreaty, would not have attempted to resist this one, regardless. He slipped his hand behind her neck and lifted her face to meet his, pressing their lips together. His remembered entirely and at once the shape and feel of hers. They seemed to greet them like a loved one too long away from home, and they lingered overlong because Severus knew that, when they parted, it would be over and she would be gone.

Finally, he lowered her to his lap and gazed at her, at the peace on her face that made her look as lovely as he’d ever known her to be. It seemed, for a moment, she was once again that girl he’d met beneath the ash tree by the lake. The burdens she’d accumulated afterward were gone. They no longer weighed her features, and she looked fresh and new again, somehow, in death.

Severus’ grief took hold of him slowly. As he looked at her, he felt the cry building in his chest, swelling in size until it was too large to escape. It fought its way toward his lips only to be caught in his throat, choking him. He thought he would surely die from it; and when it finally emerged, it was piercing and painful. It felt as if it had burst him apart to be loosed. He gathered Loraina in his arms again and released another wail, one more shattering than the first, but no matter how tightly he held her, he could not stem the gush of anguish that poured from the wound she’d left when she’d passed.

The magnitude of his grief surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. He’d spent so many years trying to convince himself that Loraina was less important to him than she was. He’d felt he’d needed to; at first because she’d been irretrievable, and then because she’d been inescapable. He only wished he’d realized sooner how much she’d really meant to him and found a way to express it before she’d been driven to this madness. He wished he’d recognized that her madness was not inherent but had been consistently nurtured, in no small part, by his refusal to admit what they meant to each other; both past and present.

Severus felt someone gently pry Loraina from his arms while someone other coaxed him into theirs. They both held him as tightly as he’d held Loraina’s corpse and let him spill his sorrow onto their breast. There was no shortage of hands to hold, of hands to stroke him. Neither was he in want of lips to gently press away the folds of dismay from his brow, or to whisper soothingly in his ear. He was grateful that he’d had some practice with this before now, that Remus had shown him how to properly fall apart so that he did not have to think on it now and could simply shatter, trusting those he loved to safeguard his pieces until he could collect himself once again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. Rainey. I'm gonna miss you, you crazy, homicidal bitch. <3
> 
> (art by me) 


	72. What Villain Was it That Spake

**Harry**

Harry was shaken. The relief he’d felt on realizing that the blood staining the beach belonged to Loraina and not to Severus had been followed closely by dismay at noticing just how much of it there was. Now, he added his own tears to the Potions Master’s as he held him tight.

Though the circumstances had been disingenuous, Loraina had belonged to Harry, too, for a time. Long enough for him to recognize that not all of the hurtful things she’d said had been sincere. No matter her motives or her crimes, no matter how complicated his feelings toward her, the woman had been important to Harry, and her loss touched him more deeply than he cared for.

Severus was quieting, settling himself into Remus’ arms, and Harry watched as the werewolf petted the vampire, thrown once again by the delightful strangeness of it. If the Potions Master hadn’t been keeping such a tight grip on him, the young man might have attempted to slip away and leave Severus in Remus’ capable hands.

Harry’s weren’t good for anything anymore but inflicting pain. Really, he reflected, when had they ever done anything other? No matter how much he loved him, despite his best intentions, Harry always only seemed to hurt Severus. The words Loraina had spit at him might have been intended to provoke, but that didn’t make them untrue. Harry needed to get away from Severus. He needed to be alone to finish wrestling with Loraina’s death; not to mention her treachery and the thousand sins they had committed together because of it.

Thank the gods, that journey was finally over. Hermione was safe, no thanks to Harry; though he supposed it didn’t matter so long as it was true. Perhaps he could rest now. He looked out at the sea, the sky gradually lightening above it, and it called to him.

“Harry Potter.”

That had not come from the sea. It had come from the beach house behind them. Harry didn’t recognize the voice, but turning, he found he knew the face of the young woman to which it belonged. He’d never met her, but Hermione had shown him her picture once.

“It’s an honour to finally meet you,” she smiled.

Her presence disconcerted Harry, as did her familiarity. It was like an itch in his subconscious, but he was too weary to focus on it. He longed to be away. How long had she been there? Why hadn’t she come to their aid?

“Where’s Hermione?”

There was an iciness to the barely repressed rage in Remus’ voice as he rose to face the girl. Severus’ hand was held tightly in Remus' as the vampire found his feet, as well. Severus seemed no less hostile toward her, but it was more passive, as if he didn’t yet have the heart to project proper fury.

“Wait. I thought she hadn’t been kidnapped?” Harry stammered, only just remembering what Agnes had said earlier; that it was Katie who kept Hermione distracted; that Hermione knew about the island but refused to visit it. So much had happened after, he hadn’t been given an opportunity to reflect on it.

“I haven’t seen her,” Katie sighed in answer to Remus’ question, seeming more bothered by his nakedness than by his animosity. “I probably won’t ever again.” She sounded so sad about the fact.

“It was unwise of you to come here,” Severus told her, collecting himself. He still clutched Remus’ hand, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice. She directed her reply to Harry.

“I had to talk to you,” she said, her look imploring. “We’re so close to changing the world. You can help us do it.”

Harry cast a confused look to Remus and Severus, but their glare at the young woman hadn’t abated. Their stillness, combined with the fierceness of their attention, was unnerving. Katie, however, did not seem to recognize the threat they posed.

“We’re on the cusp of great things,” she went on. “And you’re the key, Harry. I can understand you’re upset with us. But if you would just listen to what I’m proposing, I’m sure you’d come to understand why Hermione and I developed the serum; why you were the only one we could share it with.”

“Why Hermione…and you...?” Harry gasped. His mind, already fatigued from the last bombshell, tried but could not stave off this one. He staggered back a few steps under the weight of it.

_Hermione?_

No. It wasn’t possible.

“Kill her,” said Remus to Severus. His calm tone was incongruous to his posture. It was a command Harry might have expected from Severus, but never from Remus.

Katie spared them a nervous glance but continued speaking to a still-reeling Harry.

“Surely then you’ll see why you have to confess your condition to the world,” she said, the earnestness in her voice reminding Harry painfully of the young woman he’d come in vain to rescue. “I know you’re reluctant, but so much work went into making you the perfect catalyst. This opportunity is too precious to waste.”

Harry stared at her, dumbfounded by her foolishness, her sheer audacity.

“It won’t be instant,” she granted, speaking more urgently as if she knew her audience was coming to a close. “And there might be a little violence,” she added with an almost apologetic shrug in Remus’ direction that made him bristle further, “but when the dust settles, the world will be a better place,” she explained, adamant. “And not just for you and those you love,” she said, glancing demonstratively at Severus and Remus, “but for everyone like you.”

Everyone like Harry. Because Harry was now like Remus and Severus. Because of her.

 _Her and Hermione._ They had deliberately made him this thing. To what? Not to tarnish his legend as he’d supposed. To use it?

“Miss Granger meant more to you,” Severus said now in answer to Remus’ suggestion. “Please, be my guest.”

When Harry remained unresponsive, Katie seemed to finally decide the other men could no longer be ignored.

“So you like having to live in the shadows?” she asked them, growing defensive. “You enjoy grappling with your illness with no help from the powers that be? You’re happy with the way things are?” she demanded.

“Surely, Harry deserves the honour,” said Remus to Severus, ignoring Katie completely, which seemed to incense her. “He doesn’t realize it yet, though. He deserves to know, my sweet,” he said, his hostility softening as he turned to address his companion. “Would you like to show him, or shall I?”

“You stupid Creatures!” Katie sputtered, stomping her foot like a bespectacled Veruca Salt. “Can’t you see I’m trying to save you? Can you not appreciate all I’ve done? The trouble I went to, the investments I’ve made?”

Harry didn’t fully understand what they were talking about, but he grasped enough, and he wasn’t about to tolerate her speaking to them in such a way, regardless. He began stalking toward her, and he saw the panic in her eyes when she broke off her scowling at Severus and Remus long enough to notice his approach.

“Harry, her wand!” Severus called out in warning on seeing her scramble for it. But rather than curse Harry, she muttered a spell to activate some sort of ward around the beach house just in time to deflect the Expelliarmus Severus fired toward her.

 _Of course, she didn’t attack me_ , Harry thought darkly. _She still needs to use me._

“I hadn’t wanted it to come to this,” she huffed, even bolder now that she was standing safely on her side of the wards. She was only a few feet away from Harry, close enough for him to have ended her in a blink if not for the invisible wall that separated them.

Harry clashed with it anyway, out of spite and frustration, and was repelled. He found it the same sort as the one which separated the cove from the rest of the island, though he felt confident this one would not be so easily carved through. Not that he had a wand.

Harry paced back and forth in front of her like a caged tiger, and she watched him with growing irritation. The selfless entreaty in her expression had disappeared entirely, replaced by a condescending disapproval.

“It’s unfortunate that your condition led you to kill the two men closest to you,” she said, giving Harry a meaningful look. He growled at her. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he’d already have transformed. “If they were uninfected, that might cause a problem for us; but since they are merely Dark Creatures, perhaps it will serve to elicit more sympathy for you and bring us a cure even faster.”

A cure. That was her game? How asinine it all was.

“Are you threatening them?” Harry asked, incredulous. He felt the Beast beg for release. “I’m going to tear you apart,” he promised, raking his claws down the wards. Katie never flinched.

“No,” she said, staring steadily at him as she raised her wand to Remus and Severus, “you aren’t.”

Harry shot a terrified glance at his lovers. Severus, the only one of them with a wand, stood in front of Remus, ready to deflect whatever she cast. But he looked so weary, and Harry was too far away to be useful. There would be little he could do besides throw himself in front of the curse, regardless.

Harry moved to do precisely that, heaving himself in their direction just as a flash of light burst from the steps of the beach house. He fell well short of them but scrambled across the sand on hands and knees to close the distance, sure he would arrive to find them injured or unconscious or worse. Before his pain and fury could register, he felt hands grasp him and arms helping to pull him to his feet. Both Severus and Remus were unscathed, though that wasn’t the cause for the amazement on their faces. Harry looked back at the beach house to see what was.

“ _Incarcerous. Silencio_ ,” Hermione cast as she stepped from the front door onto the veranda. She eyed her bound and helpless girlfriend dispassionately. Then, she lifted her eyes to Harry. He saw sadness and apology in them as she dispelled the wards and descended the steps. Harry stumbled loose of Severus and Remus to shuffle over to meet her.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she whispered, looking over his injuries in honest distress.

The sight of her wounded Harry more deeply than the bloodwolves had. He’d been so worried about her for so long, he wanted to wrap her in his arms and crush her to him. But considering what he’d just learned, he was almost afraid he wouldn’t stop squeezing.

“Hermione? What did she mean by it?” he asked helplessly. “Why would she say you helped her to develop...this _nightmare?_ Tell me,” he begged. “Tell me she’s lying.” _Gods_. He’d even pretend to believe her if only she’d deny this unspeakable thing.

She turned an anxious look to his companions. “He doesn’t know?”

“We haven’t had the opportunity,” Remus replied quietly.

Hermione nodded, seeming to debate with herself for a moment before bringing her wand to her temple and withdrawing an exceptionally long memory.

“Lie down, Harry.”

“No. No, just tell me it isn’t true, Hermione,” he pleaded, glancing at the dangling strand from the corner of his eye with dread.

A tear cascaded silently down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” she told him, her voice trembling.

He shook his head, unwilling to accept such a painful truth. This betrayal was incalculably worse than Loraina's.

“I do so wish you’d let me show you,” she said. “But if you refuse, I understand.”

Harry turned a lost look back at Remus and Severus. They regarded the memory waving gently in the tropic breeze with a solemnity that seemed hard to reconcile with the diaphanous fragility of its appearance. Remus met Harry’s eye and, after a moment’s reflection, he nodded, wordlessly encouraging Harry to do as he’d been asked.

 

 

 


	73. Vengeance is in My Heart, Death in My Hands

**Remus**

“Leave it,” Severus advised her as the tip of the memory sank into Harry’s temple. “It’s too much to rip away so quickly. Let it play.”

Hermione seemed overcome by the gentleness of the suggestion and the equanimity in the Potions Master’s expression. The hand holding her wand began to tremble, but she nodded gratefully and braced her elbow against her knee.

Not that he forgave her, but Remus respected Hermione for coming. She was clever enough to have escaped detection indefinitely. She well knew what Harry was capable of and what he was likely to do, but she chose to face her mistake rather than run from it.

Remus dreaded what would come next. There was no telling how the memory Hermione fed Harry would affect him or how far his revenge might extend. Remus knew blood would be shed. The troubling question was whose blood it would be. He was ambivalent about it. This whole chain of events had somewhat skewed his moral compass almost as much as it must have Harry's.

Finally, Severus nodded permission for Hermione to reclaim her memory. Everyone waited, silent and breathless, for Harry’s reaction.

He didn’t give one for the longest time, laying still and expressionless as if he remained under the vision’s sway. When he finally stirred, Harry staggered to his feet like a zombie. It was concerning how he would not meet anyone’s eye. More concerning was the way he trudged toward Agnes with a slow but relentless step.

The woman’s face was a mask of hatred, and her mouth twisted and stretched, undoubtedly cursing Harry at length as he grasped her by the hair. Though, because of the spell Severus had cast, there was no sound besides the sigh of the waves and the whisper of the sands beneath her as Harry dragged Agnes back over to the assembly.

Without a word, Harry lifted her head to his chest and twisted it until long after her neck gave a sickening crackle. He set her limp body at Severus’ feet after like a gift, but he did not meet the Potions Master’s troubled gaze. That done, he turned and stared at Katie. His stride was just as sedate as before, but as he walked toward her, Remus spied the ends of Harry’s fingers sprout claws.

The curse that Hermione had cast to prevent Katie from firing one at Remus and Severus had left the other young woman unconscious. Harry knelt beside her for quite some time as if hoping she’d wake. Remus could hear Harry growl softly as he looked at her, and he knew Katie’s death would not be as clean as Agnes’.

“Look away, Hermione,” Harry said, gruff but quiet, seeming to have grown tired of waiting. Hermione whimpered softly but did as she was told, turning her head and squeezing shut her eyes as Harry divested Katie’s body of its head with a slow deliberateness that made the murder even more unsettling.

Remus couldn’t watch, either. He turned to Severus, and the two clung to one another, mourning the humanity that had died in their beloved. Remus could not blame Harry for his vengeance. As Rainey had said, this was blood that was owed to him. That did not make the way he claimed it any less disturbing.

The thud of an object falling heavily to the boards of the beach house steps announced end of the ordeal, and Remus and Severus turned a wary glance toward Harry as he set his own sights on a trembling Hermione. She was still sitting where he had left her on the sand. The look in Harry's eye was agonized, his expression conflicted. He grimaced as he approached her as if he hated to but had no choice.

“Harry, wait,” Remus called softly, but Harry bared his fangs at the man and growled at him as he fell to his knees beside his lifelong friend. He didn’t speak, but Remus still felt the silent command to stay away in bones.

Hermione turned to face Harry, and her Gryffindor courage faltered momentarily but did not fail as she met his tearfully enraged stare.

“Harry...I’m so sorry,” she said again, her words small and tremulous.

“Are you going to beg?” he asked. The cold calmness in his voice was at odds with the riot of emotion on his face.

“No,” she said, taking a deep breath to steel herself. “I’m not.” There was no pride or defiance in the statement, only acceptance. She closed her eyes, and she didn’t flinch when Harry’s blood-slicked hand closed around her neck. Remus took an urgent step toward them, but Severus held him back.

“Wait,” he whispered, considering Harry cautiously. The young man didn’t seem to be doing much more than gripping Hermione firmly, but that could change in an instant, and Remus was anxious about the aftermath if it did. Nonetheless, he heeded the vampire’s advice. Severus was as experienced with this version of Harry as anyone could be.

“Voldemort once showed me a vision of you writhing in pain as he tortured you in front of me,” Harry hissed in Hermione’s face, causing her eyes to flutter open.

Her fingers came to the wrist of the hand that wrapped around her neck, and her brow furrowed, perhaps concerned she wouldn’t be given the quick death she’d expected.

“I didn’t know it was a vision at the time,” Harry explained. “I still have nightmares about it.”

Hermione was silent, wide-eyed and dreading.

“What he did to you in that vision, Hermione,” Harry shuddered, his face crumpling as if remembering, “is nothing compared to what I’m about to do.” His voice as he said this was pained as if he sincerely wished it weren’t so.

Remus could not hold his tongue any longer. He brushed away Severus’ warning hand to step forward and plead with the young man.

“Harry, don’t do this.”

“You are not Alpha any longer, Remus,” Harry snarled back at him, seeming furious to have been interrupted. “You cannot compel me.”

“Perhaps not,” Remus said, raising his hands to beg for peace as he inched closer despite the way Harry’s willful stare pushed back at him like a physical force. “But I am your friend, Darling,” he said, his expression beseeching. “And as someone who loves you, I am telling you, you _will_ regret this.”

“You don’t even know what I’m about to do,” Harry sneered, summarily dismissing the werewolf to turn his attention back to Hermione.

He tugged the wand from her unresisting fingers, and they were all nonplussed when the young man brought the tip of it to his forehead. With the hand still at her throat, Harry forced Hermione to lay on the sand before easing the memory he had withdrawn into her temple. Her eyes clouded and Remus winced as she soon began to screech in pain. It had to have been the same memory Harry had shared with William and Timothy of the hybrid potion ravaging him. But instead of holding it poised as he had with his previous victims, Harry allowed the memory to slip from the tip of Hermione's wand to disappear into her mind. Her screaming tapered and stopped, but her eyes remained wide and unseeing.

Harry gave a shuddering sob as he rose to his feet, Hermione’s wand falling from his fingers. Remus regarded him warily, unsure what had just happened. He’d never seen a memory released into the mind of someone to which it did not belong. Judging by his expression, neither had Severus. They gave the now catatonic young woman an uneasy glance, but most of their attention was reserved for the almost equally unresponsive young man shuffling toward them.

He did not look at them as he drew even with them. His eyes were on the sea as if it were the only thing left in the world.

“If she wakes up,” he said, his voice flat and almost inaudible, “tell her I forgive her.” And with that, he continued on past them, walking slowly but inexorably toward the water.

Severus scowled after him, his mouth hanging open in disbelief as Harry moved beyond the swirling surf as if he had no intention of stopping. All at once, the Potions Master’s expression turned livid, and he strode swiftly after the young man, catching him by the hair in knee-deep water to force him to meet his eye.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the vampire demanded through rage-clenched teeth, his voice dangerously low.

Harry, tears spilling down his face, bared his fangs at the man and pulled against the grip in his hair, toward the waves.

“Don’t you dare try to pull that hierarchical rubbish with me, little boy,” Severus snarled, tangling his fingers deeper in Harry’s black strands, eliciting a growl from him as it nearly buckled the young man’s knees. “I am not your bloody beta,” he snapped. “I don’t care what you are or how fearsome you might seem to others. I am not frightened of you, and you will not ignore me.”

Harry whined and writhed in the vampire’s grasp, but the dazed and distant hue of his expression began to fade, and he looked up at Severus through his lashes as if tempted to be contrite. Severus, however, was not yet inclined to forgiveness.

“After the utter fucking _shite_ we went through to find you, we aren’t about to just let you walk off into the bloody ocean. _Have you lost your mind?_ ” he asked, his incredulity reaching its peak. “I don’t give a kneazle’s left tit how sweetly death calls to you. You are going to live, do you understand me?” he told the young man, releasing his hair and seizing him by the back of the neck. “And you’re going to live with us,” he added in an angry hiss, yanking Harry sharply to his lips.

The kiss was long, and Harry’s hands rose to clasp Severus’ shoulders as if to stop himself from drowning in it. By the time it broke, Severus’ anger seemed to have been spent, and Harry was pliable in his arms.

“Our bed is large, Dearest,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Harry’s as the young man surrendered to him completely. “We need you in order to fill it properly,” he explained, turning him to guide him back to dry sands. “Now where did you leave your fucking clothes?” Severus muttered with a weary sigh. “We’re going home.”

The young man seemed thoroughly broken now, lost and no longer possessing any will of his own. Severus gingerly transferred Harry to Remus’ care, giving his head an affectionate stroke before walking over to gently collect Rainey’s remains.


	74. And Triumphs Over Chance in Honour's Bed

“There you are.” Remus had been on his way to Harry’s room but had heard movement in the one next door to it and looked in to investigate. “I thought you would be with Harry.”

“I was,” sighed Severus as he removed an armful of books from the moving box on his new bed to transfer them to the bookshelf nearby. “I’m not certain whether he was with me, however,” he added with a frown. Remus nodded his sad understanding.

Their voices were subdued. Harry’s condition seemed to damper them, along with their spirits.

“Minerva’s just gone,” Remus reported, remembering the purpose of his visit upstairs. “She told me not to disturb you as she couldn’t stay, but she wanted me to assure you that, as a professor of Hogwarts, Loraina absolutely has the right to be buried on its grounds. The school will even arrange for the stone.”

Considering the identities of the true culprits in their tale, Loraina’s betrayals seemed less severe in comparison, and the general consensus was that she should be tentatively forgiven in death. Remus still harbored some resentment for the havoc she’d encouraged, but it was difficult to stay angry with a dead woman; especially one so obviously dear to Severus.

“Dear gods. No stone,” Severus shuddered. “You know what children are like. They’d show it no respect. I’d be too tempted to hex them, and we cannot afford for me to lose my job.” The Potions Master could just imagine the abuse the monument would incur. Loraina was not well loved.

“I don’t think she’d want one, anyway,” he reflected, growing solemn. “The tree itself will be marker enough.”

Severus’ chore slowed to a stop as the vampire lost himself momentarily in bittersweet nostalgia. Remus gently took the remaining tomes from Severus’ hands and lined them side by side with the others already on the bookshelf for him.

“How is Harry?” he ventured. The young man seemed to prefer Severus’ company. Or else, he was less reluctant to ask Remus to leave him alone. Severus’ will was a bit harder for the young man to contradict.

The vampire didn’t answer, but his expression fell further. Remus turned to him and stroked his arms as if to warm him.

“It will pass,” he assured the man, “in time. He’ll come back to us again before you know it.”

Severus smirked, but it was weak. The werewolf’s unfailing optimism was almost exhausting, but the Potions Master had stopped trying to puzzle out how Remus’ spirit managed to weather all the misfortune it had seen and just accepted that he appreciated very much that it had.

“There is no coming back from where’s he been,” he argued still. It was habitual.

“It will get better,” Remus persisted. “We will make certain of it.”

Severus looked up at Remus’ patient expression, and the other man’s surety finally forced the vampire’s pessimism to falter.

“I know,” he sighed, taking a seat on the bed. It was new and much larger and softer than anything to which the Potions Master was accustomed. The unfamiliar comfort of both his furnishings and his now frequent company would require some getting used to.

“Do you think we did enough?” he asked Remus, unable to shake off his worry entirely.

“What more can we do for him now but make him comfortable and give him time?”

“I wasn’t referring to Harry.”

Remus perched on the corner of Severus’ bed with a sigh of his own.

“You don’t think setting fire to an entire island was sufficient?”

“I’m afraid we missed something,” Severus fretted, unable to put a finger on why he felt so. “I fear that enough remained somehow for someone with sufficient skill and ambition to-”

“My sweet Severus, you worry too much,” Remus said as he reached across the carton full of the vampire’s belongings to take his hand. If he didn’t interrupt his brooding, Severus would work himself into a proper mood and begin attacking nooks and crannies with a toothbrush...again. He’d practically erased the water damage to the landing singlehandedly already.

The Potions Master was not subdued, however.

“This knowledge can be possessed by no one,” he stressed, “not even the Ministry. Can you imagine an army of those things?”

They both shivered.

“You destroyed the lab,” Remus pointed out. “You have all of Agnes’ notes. The inhabitants, gods rest their souls, are all dead; we saw to it.”

Repeated castings of Homenum Revelio had failed to indicate a human presence. If a bloodwolf remained somewhere in the smoldering remains of the island, the only logical explanation was that it was no longer human and so not subject to the spell; and Remus wasn’t prepared to face the existential implications of that possibility.

“I can’t think what more we could have done,” the werewolf concluded, refusing to entertain that line of thought further.

Severus was still anxious, and Remus decided to change the subject entirely; though unfortunately, none of the topics available were any happier than the last.

“Has there been any word on Hermione?”

“There’s been no change,” said Severus with a shake of his head. Neither of them was quite certain, yet, how they felt about the young woman now. “Mungo’s will owl if there is.”

“Then that’s that,” concluded Remus. “We can get on with it, now,” he said, squeezing Severus’ hand to punctuate the suggestion. “It’s over. Severus?” he said, all but forcing the man to meet his eye. “We’re done.”

The other man regarded him for a moment before shaking his head.

“It’s just beginning,” Severus responded, but his expression was no longer quite so wretched, and Remus thought he heard a touch of excitement in his voice. “I’ve been reading over Agnes’ research. It’s a shame she was a morally impoverished bitch deserving of her fate. She was surprisingly brilliant,” he mused. “Her work has already helped me in improving the formula for Harry’s serum. Though, it’s far from perfect,” he conceded. “The vaccine, however,” he added, his eyes dancing with the possibilities that seemed suddenly illuminated, “Remus, I’m so close.” The werewolf loved the way Severus’ fingers tightened around his in his enthusiasm. “It still eludes me, but I can almost see it. I have so much work to do.” He was near breathless.

“Yes,” Remus agreed with a small smile, “but not tonight.” His look turned playfully predatory as he removed the box from between them and set it on the floor in order to shift closer to the vampire.

“Oh,” Severus exclaimed softly, intercepting the hands that reached to slip themselves inside his robes. “I love you. Truly. But there are so many-”

“They will wait,” Remus interrupted. His voice was quiet but firm, and his hands easily ignored Severus’ half-hearted attempt to wrangle them. “There are other ways you might distract yourself from your heartache, my sweet,” he whispered in the man’s ear when his arms finally managed to circle his waist and draw him closer. “Pleasanter ways,” he said, nuzzling Severus’ neck in illustration.

The Potions Master’s head swam, and his resistance dwindled. “I think you might underestimate how much I enjoy research,” he argued distractedly, no longer offering any real opposition to Remus’ wandering hands. His own went to the front of the werewolf’s shirt to investigate the shape of the man beneath it.

Remus grinned into the crook of Severus’ neck before sampling it. The way Severus’ palms slid hungrily up his back was wonderful, but it was not as gratifying as when they withdrew to unfasten the man’s own waistcoat. Remus loved that his reluctance to be bared seemed to have vanished, that he peeled the fabric from the shoulder closest to Remus’ lips to urge them to taste that now naked skin.

Severus’ cuffs eventually released him from his voluminous layers of linen, and Remus set to devouring the feast unveiled for him in earnest. Having finished with his, Severus turned his increasingly keen attention to Remus’ clothing.

“I hate this blasted cardigan,” he muttered breathlessly as he helped the man to shed it. “And are you wearing braces?” he asked, appalled, drawing back despite Remus’ objections to scowl at them.

Remus glanced down with a shrug. “Well, these trousers never have quite fit properly,” he said, uninterested in support wear at the moment. He ran a fingertip down Severus’ torso as he tried to decide where next to attach himself to it. “But you know what they say; beggars can’t be choosers.”

“I’m introducing you and Harry both to my tailor,” Severus resolved. He yanked the elastic straps from Remus’ shoulders before sliding up to straddle his lap to more easily address the buttons of the other man’s shirt. “Our Mister Potter can certainly afford to have us all fitted in something I won’t be embarrassed to have us seen out in,” he said, divesting Remus of his unacceptable wardrobe and tossing the offending items to the floor behind him.

“Are you planning a date night?” Remus teased, laying back on the mattress to better allow Severus to strip his ill-fitting trousers. “For the three of us?”

“We could go to the theatre,” Severus proposed, stepping back to appreciate the fruits of his efforts. “We are in London, after all.”

Remus stretched demonstratively, working his way further onto the bed as he did so in invitation.

“Harry and I can watch you eat after,” Severus said absently, looking hungrier himself with each passing moment. The man allowed his appetite to whet further as he examined the now naked werewolf, not rushing as he removed the rest of his own clothing before scaling the bed and the man spread across it.

Remus reached with a frown to smooth the corner of the bandage adhered to Severus’ side. They were both covered in what would be new scars, but Severus received the worse damage by far, and Remus was far more accustomed to the condition, besides.

“If you don’t feel up to this, after all,” he began, but Severus silenced him with a kiss. He would be damned if he’d unfastened all those blasted buttons for nothing. He’d need to have a word with the aforementioned tailor about the matter in future.

“It isn’t as if you came out unscathed, either,” said the vampire, tracing the mostly healed scratches across Remus’ previously unsullied cheek. They troubled him, despite that he felt confident he would not have survived if Harry hadn’t left them there. “I think I trust you being in control of him far more than the inverse,” he confessed.

They did not yet know what demons would still cling to the young man once he emerged from his stupor. Severus feared what abuse Remus might incur as a result. Severus would have to ensure Harry did not step out of line.

The werewolf, however, seemed unconcerned. “I’m not exactly an Omega,” he pointed out with a lift of his eyebrow.

Severus shivered, and his eyes narrowed as he took in Remus’ confident smirk. It was unexpected how much that knowledge appealed to him considering Severus' fondness of Harry’s typical pliancy. Severus had no intention of being Remus’ submissive, but he found he enjoyed the challenge the man presented, nonetheless.

Now was not the time for such things, though. They were both still weary in body and spirit. Now was for the gentle enclosure of arms around battered torsos. It was for kisses like apologies and caresses that accepted them graciously. Remus carefully turned Severus to lay on his back, mindful of his still tender wounds as he bent to visit the unblemished skin around and between them with his lips.

It was a sedate but exceedingly effective aphrodisiac, and Severus was almost too insensible to hear the creak of the door swinging further open. Remus gradually became aware of Harry’s silent presence in the doorway and lifted his face to him. Neither man seemed sure how best to proceed, as Harry gave no outward indication of what he thought of the tableau. Should they cover themselves? Should someone go to him?

“Would you care to join us, Dearest?” Severus finally ventured. Remus turned a wide-eyed look to the vampire, pleasantly surprised by the suggestion and the ease with which Severus had voiced it. Harry, however, shook his head.

“May I watch?” he asked timidly.

Severus’ arousal, which had been accordingly sluggish in light of Remus’ slow stimulation, sprang rather suddenly to life at the thought of Harry watching but not participating. He was perhaps more astonished by the phenomenon than he had been on discovering he enjoyed watching Harry and Remus together. He’d never realized before how either such thing might appeal to him.

“I’ve no objections,” Remus responded with a gentle smile meant to put the young man at ease. Harry seemed tense and uncertain. “My Sweet?”

When Severus shook his head to indicate he was agreeable, Remus continued his deliberate, languid journey toward Severus’ increasingly urgent need, and Harry drifted silently to the wooden chair in the corner from where he watched the two intently.

Severus was gradually coming undone beneath Remus’ tongue, but his frequent glances to his Dearest Love left him feeling conflicted. The young man was once so expressive. Irrepressibly so. His blank expression as he watched his Mate reduce his long-time lover to a quivering mess was almost disquieting. Severus thought he saw him quicken, though, as Remus extricated Severus’ wand from his robe pocket to mutter the necessary spells. He watched Harry’s cheeks color as Remus took Severus fully into his mouth; but then Severus saw nothing besides the backs of his eyelids as they scrunched shut in concentration.

The Potions Master didn’t like to admit how much he looked forward to the moment when Remus would move his attention lower, but he waited with breathless anticipation for it when he felt the werewolf shift position between his spread thighs. The moment’s wait seemed interminable, and the first brush of Remus’ tongue was made all the more overwhelming by the fact that his responding moan was smothered by a second set of familiar lips.

Severus’ eyes flew open to find Harry’s very close to his. There was still no expression in them, but the young man’s affection was conveyed more than adequately by his kiss. Severus could scarcely breathe much less voice his relieved appreciation for Harry’s presence. He communicated in kind, his lips moving across the younger man’s like a prayer of gratitude, his hands gently traveling through his hair and over his skin to implore him to stay, to come closer.

As he worked, Remus watched Severus coax Harry further onto the bed with them. He hummed his encouragement as the vampire divested the young man of the dressing gown he wore, revealing him to be naked beneath it. Harry had claimed that clothes chafed him, that he prefered the fur coat he’d worn so long while away. That frustration was now a convenience, and Remus cautiously reached his unoccupied hand toward Harry’s bare thigh once the bloodwolf finished settling in beside the man whom Remus painstakingly stretched with reaching fingers. The sight of Harry and Severus together, the care and knowledge with which they touched one another, would never grow old, and Remus finally had permission to be included in their celebration of each other.

Remus hadn’t intended to interrupt them, but when he rose to his knees, gently drawing Severus’ hips up with him as he did so, Harry was distracted from the Potions Master’s worshipful mouth and sat up to look.

Severus watched the young man keenly as Harry watched Remus position himself in order to sink carefully inside of the vampire. The sight seemed to steal Harry’s breath, and he drew closer to see it better.

But then he continued his approach, and Remus moaned softly as he watched Harry’s mouth sheathe the silken ivory length the werewolf had so recently abandoned.

Seeing Severus disappear between Harry’s lips at the same time Remus disappeared into Severus was one of the most gorgeous things Remus had ever witnessed; second only, perhaps, to the look on Severus’ face as his lovers both worked him in synchrony. Remus thought he could tell that the vampire longed to close his eyes to lose himself in it, but his lids remained stubbornly slit, however heavy, to lock gazes with Remus.

As dearly as he wanted to watch Harry’s unruly mess of black hair rise and fall over his lap, to memorize the euphoric expression on Remus’ face, Severus finally could not help but close his eyes and give himself over completely to the sensations that inundated him. His hand reached blindly to find the one Harry left laying on the sheets beside him, tangling their fingers together as his other hand reached imploringly for Remus. The werewolf rested Severus’ ankle on his shoulder in order to free himself to accept it.

Severus cracked his eyes in time to see Harry twine his fingers with the ones of the hand Remus was using to support Severus’ other leg, completing their circuit, and his climax refused to be delayed any longer. It rocked him hard, skating up his spine to lift him from the mattress with a choked moan. They both tightened their grips in his, anchoring him as he rode his orgasm through; though it lingered, left him shuddering intermittently for several seconds more as they both worked with hips and tongue to wring the very most from him.

“Would you like me to stop, my sweet?” Remus asked, stroking the leg draped over his shoulder to ease the man’s persistent trembling.

The vampire looked at Harry. The young man was considering Severus’ softening length, disappointed that the prize of their efforts was trapped inside the spell needed to protect Remus from the villain in Severus’ veins. He cupped Harry’s chin, drawing his attention.

As sated as Severus was, as grateful for what had just happened and as heartened by the young man’s presence, Harry’s stubborn detachment pained him. The vampire’s lust was all but depleted, but perhaps Remus could coax some passion from the young man.

“May he finish in you, Dearest?” he asked, stroking his cheek. Harry’s expression was still troublingly vacant, but his face was rosy, and his arousal was blatant.

Harry turned his blushing look to Remus, considering him for a moment before rising to kiss him. The werewolf gently released Severus’ legs to bring his hands to Harry’s face as they did so. When Harry drew back, he nodded, his cheeks redder than ever.

“Dearest, kiss me while he does,” Severus requested, not willing to be excluded merely because he was spent.

Remus removed himself from the vampire, carefully lowering Severus back to the bed so that Harry might hover on hands and knees over top of him, leaning down to kiss the Potions Master while offering himself to his Mate at the same time.

Severus heard Remus summon the healing salve from the room next door and felt the change in Harry’s kiss when the werewolf began applying it. Harry broke away with a gasp as Remus worked it deeper inside of him, and Severus could not resist taking that opportunity to reach down and assist, sliding his finger through excess balm that coated Harry’s cleft before pressing it inside to join the one Remus had already sheathed. Harry moaned, resting his forehead on Severus’ shoulder as the two men worked him.

The confines were tight, and Harry’s body squeezed their digits together almost painfully, but they eventually worked out how to act together to ease the pressure that compressed them, turning Harry’s opening more pliant, warmed by their efforts and ready for something more.

Severus did not withdraw. As Remus pulled back to replace their fingers with something more aching and substantial, Severus spread the young man for him; fondling where the two met, getting to feel every inch of Remus as he slid past the vampire’s fingers and inside the lover between them. All three of them moaned.

Remus wasn’t confident he would last until the younger man was finished. Their mutual activities with Severus had brought him close, and the way Severus still played with them both as Remus worked himself in and out of Harry was sublime. Remus slowed his pace, trying to hold onto it. It was all too delicious to be squandered so soon. He couldn’t watch them, though, gorgeous as they were. The way Harry’s back bowed, the satiated but still keen look of concentration on Severus’ face as he explored, was too much for Remus.

“I actually love it when he fucks you,” Severus whispered, turning his head to reach his lips toward Harry’s ear as the young man clung to him, panting. “Could you ever have imagined such a thing?”

Severus hadn’t. Though he’d long ago realized his possessive jealousy was unhealthy, he hadn’t been able to discard it, only to temper its expression. He never thought it would allow for this. Until it happened.

Harry whimpered in response, pressing back into Remus’ thrusts, and Severus shifted his attention, reaching both hands now to the front of Harry, using one to stroke him and the other to ring the base of his bollocks in a firm grip. The young man squirmed under the vampire’s manipulation. It had been honed over the years until Severus could induce the exact response, or combination of responses, he desired from him.

“Severus,” Harry whined, it was the first unsolicited word the vampire had heard him speak in days. “Why won’t you let me…”

“Not yet,” Severus whispered, laying a kiss on the corner of his mouth. The young man was too busy trying to draw breath through his slack lips to reciprocate. “Remus first. Trust me.”

Remus overheard and, having permission, he obliged gratefully, unintentionally adding to the bruises that spotted Harry’s skin as his grip on the young man’s hips tightened with his release. He was almost glad that they were all too damaged for anything rougher than what had occurred. It had been exquisite. All he wanted now was to laze with the two of them in his arms, but he knew Harry was not satisfied and that Severus had something in mind. He looked to him, waiting to be told what his role was in it.

The Potions Master urged Harry to his back, motioning for Remus to join him at the young man’s lips. Severus’ hand found and stroked a path down Remus’ arm, guiding his hand to Harry’s need so they might both stroke it.

Harry was not overly vocal, but he writhed, clutching at them both as they kissed matching trails down his chest and stomach. Their mouths met over the young man’s erection which throbbed pleadingly for release.

“Since we can’t taste each other...” Severus whispered, lifting the precome from Harry’s tip with his tongue and serving it the werewolf with a kiss. They both descended then, sharing the bounty of Harry’s cock between them, their lips and tongues meeting haphazardly. Remus reached inside the young man. Then he left Harry’s length to Severus so he could shift to settle between Harry’s legs and replace the fingers that worked him with his equally enthusiastic tongue.

“Oh, gods,” Harry shuddered, panting so hard his own breath choked him. His hips couldn’t decide where they wanted to thrust, back against Remus’ mouth or up into Severus’ throat.

“Remus...Severus! Please,” he begged, his hands tearing at the bedsheets as if he could wring his denied climax from them.

The Potions Master seemed to have been waiting for the outburst, and he finally permitted Harry to come, easing the pressure at the base of his cock while wrapping his lips around the head of it, catching the release that pumped through it with his mouth.

Harry continued to writhe even after he had finished spilling, and he moaned pitifully when Severus rose and caught Remus by the hair to lift the werewolf’s face from Harry’s crotch and up to Severus’ waiting mouth so that both men might share in the reward they’d worked so hard to procure. Finally, it was done, and they collapsed to lay on either side of the young man, finding themselves in just the same position as the last time they’d all shared a bed. It was the most carefree Remus had felt in ages.

“We must make this a regular occurrence,” he sighed, hugging them firmly with an arm that spanned them both. Severus draped his arm over Remus’, toying absently with the sweat-sheened skin of Harry’s chest beneath his fingers.

“What do you say, Dearest?” he asked, brushing the tip of his nose affectionately across Harry’s cheek.

The young man was quiet. He seemed to still be recovering from his recent orgasm. He considered each of the faces turned lovingly to him in turn.

“Kiss each other again,” he requested quietly.

They indulged him, smiling softly at each other as they stretched to meet over top of the young man. Harry reached up to cup a hand over each of their cheeks as the intended peck took on a life of its own, deepening for a moment and ending reluctantly.

“Are you certain you still need me?”

Harry’s voice had been so small, and both men pulled their gazes from one another to cast an almost wounded look at their younger lover.

“Oh, Dearest,” Severus whispered, his brow furrowed. “How could there even be a question of it?”

“You go so well together...”

Remus leaned down to dot Harry’s face with feathery kisses, making him sigh. “You command half my soul, Darling,” he reminded, laying a final one on the end of Harry’s nose. “Until the day I die.”

“And half my heart,” Severus added firmly, “for all of eternity.”

Harry reflected on this, his persistently blank expression softening to allow for tenderness.

“We all belong to each other, then?”

“Always,” Severus vowed, stroking the backs of his fingers across the young man’s cheek.

“Forever,” Remus told him, brushing the wayward hair from Harry’s forehead to better look into the young man’s eyes.

“We meet in you, Harry,” Severus explained, kissing him sweetly. “In fact,” he whispered with a smile while he was close, “it occurred to me we might literally next time, if you’re agreeable.”

Remus felt the bloodwolf shiver. His expression lit infinitesimally, and there was more than a shade of excitement in his voice when he asked, “Can next time be now?”

Both of the older men groaned, but through relieved grins, before Severus muttered, “You are entirely too young,” and settled back down at Harry’s side.

For the first time in weeks, Harry smiled.

 


	75. Epilogue

The Full moon washed the clearing with cold light like molten silver. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every inch of craggy bark was coated in it. It gave the bloodwolf an advantage over the vampire it stalked. A moon so bright would blind the furless creature, but the hybrid had other senses - just as strong - that it could rely on. So long as it remained downwind, it need only hide the blatant fire of its heart to stay undetected; and with the ubiquitous lunar glare, that task was made easier still.

Even if the night had been free of moonshine, the bloodwolf would have been superior to its prey. The other Dark Creature was older. Its senses were dulled by a lifetime of potion consumption designed to suppress its gifts. The bloodwolf had a potion as well, but the regimen was new. All the serum did was allow the bloodwolf to think more clearly. On the night of the Full moon, it only made the creature more formidable.

The vampire was not helpless, however. Besides being quicker, it was craftier. What it lacked in might, the vampire made up for in cunning, and the bloodwolf could not allow vanity to make it reckless. Not when it was so close.

The vampire listened. It would hear the crunch of leaf litter under paw if its rival were not cautious. It stood utterly motionless, scanning the surrounding trees with sharp eyes, but the bloodwolf approached from behind. It only needed to advance a few more steps, and it would be able to spring…

It was one step too many. A brittle twig snapped beneath the bloodwolf’s heft despite the muffling spread of the pad of its paw. The vampire did not even turn. It bolted, out into the clearing. It was brighter there, but there was no place for the bloodwolf to hide. The time for stealth was over, anyway. The bloodwolf bounded, leaping forward with its long, powerful back legs to give chase.

The vampire was swift, but the bloodwolf was young and determined and soon overtook its victim. The vampire turned at the last moment to face the bloodwolf and catch the force of its impact with its chest rather than its back. Its spindly arms were strong, but the bloodwolf avoided its grasping fingers and took hold of the vampire's shoulders with almost-human hands to pin it to the ground under its considerable weight.

The vampire growled and fought to shift the beast, but it was futile. The bloodwolf peeled its lips back from its fangs in a snarl, slowly dipping its muzzle toward the vampire’s scowling face.

“Don’t,” the vampire barked, not quite begging, turning its head to avoid the saliva that threatened to drip from the bloodwolf’s slavering jaws. “Stop, I say!”

The bloodwolf ignored the entreaty, extending its tongue to swipe it up the vampire’s face from chin to temple.

“Gods dammit, Harry,” Severus sputtered, kicking him in the side to indicate the joke was officially no longer funny. “Bloodwolf breath is atrocious. I’ll be washing drool crust from my hair for ages,” he fumed, his nose scrunched in disgust.

Harry wheezed through his fangs and refused to budge, repeatedly lapping at Severus’ face until the man surrendered to a fit of laughter.

“No!” he said firmly, speaking to Harry as if to a naughty pup but unable to stop smiling. “This is not funny,” he shouted, laughing harder. “Harry! No, stop. Remus, help!”

Harry heard the soft pelt of approaching paws but pretended he didn’t, attacking Severus with his tongue more feverishly while he was still able before the enormous blond werewolf burst from the trees and bowled him over, knocking him to the ground to rescue the poor, beleaguered vampire.

Harry was on his feet again almost instantly and turned to face Remus. The two squared off with a growl as Severus picked himself off the ground, swiping at his face with the fabric of his robe. Harry saw Remus’ muscles bunch as he prepared to pounce, and the bloodwolf shifted, bracing himself for the anticipated impact. But the werewolf yipped, startling Harry, before feinting to the left. Harry hopped to the right to intercept his bound, but Remus tore off to the left, after all, sprinting back toward the forest with Harry chasing after.

Remus wove between trees, leaping fallen trunks with ease. Each time Harry thought he had him, the werewolf would change direction, his even limbs far agiler than Harry’s mismatched ones. The bloodwolf was gaining on him, though.

Just as Harry was certain he was about to overtake his quarry, something streaked across his path with a flash of pale skin and flap of black linen, bopping him lightly on the head as it passed. Severus danced forward to outstrip Remus, looking back to taunt his slowness before turning and leaving them both behind. His silvery laughter bounced off the trees as he went. The wolves never slowed, but as they drew even, they shared a determined look before pursuing their frolicking prey together through the woods.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Thanks for taking this wild ride with me and seeing it to the end. <3 Please, for the love of all that is holy, leave a comment and tell me what you thought. Even if you hated it. FEED THE AUTHOR.
> 
> Extra especial thanks to my betas:
> 
> EVS, you saved my life. <\-- This woman singlehandedly beta'd 90% of this fic and a fuckton of the last one. She is awesome and amazing, and I am forever in her debt. <3 All the love, EVS!
> 
> HallowsEve, thank you for yelling at me. Your rant!reviews kept me pumped. I wouldn't have made it through to the end without your support. I hope it lived up to your expectations. I'm glad you don't hate Remus anymore. :p I wish I could have warmed you up to Harry more, but I understand. He is a dumbass. 
> 
> EspadaIV. Bitch, I love you even though you threaten to slap me with dicks. Maybe I love you _because_ you threaten to slap me with dicks. Thanks for helping me through this last chapter.
> 
> ****After recent feedback, I removed a handful of chapters from the fic proper. But rather than delete them, I've moved them to the end, in case anyone would like to see that content. They were not essential and slowed down the fic too much. Am contemplating returning the fic to a more chronological timeline. (I need feedback, guys! :p)
> 
> Also, if anyone would like to beta this thing properly, please, FOR THE LOVE OF GLOB, let me know.


	76. Original/Roughly Chronological Chapter Order

1\. Now Thou Turn'st Away Thy Face for Shame (2016-08-08)  
2\. Oblivion and Hateful Griefs (2016-08-09)  
3\. And Maintain Such a Quarrel Openly (2016-08-09)  
4\. This is the Tragic Tale (2016-08-13)  
5\. Lest We Remember Still That We Have None (2016-08-14)  
6\. And What Not Done, That Thou Hast Cause to Rue (2016-08-15)  
7\. Wilt Thou Kneel With Me (2016-08-17)  
8\. In Wrongful Quarrel (2016-08-18)  
9\. Bid Him Farewell (2016-08-18)  
10\. As Punishment for His Most Wicked Life (2016-08-19)  
11\. Has Sorrow Made Thee Dote Already (2016-08-20)  
12\. Yet Every Mother Breeds Not Sons Alike (2016-08-21)  
13\. I Blush to Think Upon This Ignomy (2016-08-22)  
14\. No Noise, But Silence (2016-08-24)  
15\. Root of Thine Annoy (2016-08-25)  
16\. Some Never-Heard-of Torturing Pain (2016-08-26)  
17\. Fond Woman, Let Me Go (2016-08-28)  
18\. Successful in the Battles That He Fights (2016-08-28)  
19\. Patient Yourself (2016-08-30)  
20\. For These Slips Have Made Him Noted Long (2016-08-31)  
21\. I Promise You; Were't Not for Shame (2016-09-04)  
22\. Here Lurks No Treason, Here No Envy Swells (2016-09-06)  
23\. A Charm to Calm These Fits (2016-09-08)  
24\. Rather Comfort His Distressed Plight (2016-09-14)  
25\. Why Makest Thou it So Strange? (2016-09-21)  
26\. O, What a Sympathy of Woe is This (2016-09-30)  
27\. I Am Surprised with an Uncouth Fear (2016-11-14)  
28\. To Prove Thou Hast a True-Divining Heart (2016-11-25)  
29\. To Some Secret Hole (2016-11-28)  
30\. Away, I Say! (2016-12-07)  
31\. By Uproar Sever'd, Like a Flight of Fowl (2016-12-11)  
32\. Villain, What Hast Thou Done? (2016-12-15)  
33\. He That Wounded Him Hath Hurt Me More Than Had He Killed Me Dead (2017-01-08)  
34\. Blazoning Our Injustice (2017-01-17)  
35\. His Fits, His Frenzy, and His Bitterness (2017-02-03)  
36\. A Solemn Hunting is in Hand (2017-04-03)  
37\. There Serve Your Lusts, Shadow'd from Heaven's Eye (2017-04-09)  
38\. And Tumble Me into Some Loathsome Pit (2017-04-27)  
39\. O Monstrous! What Reproachful Words are These? (2017-05-03)  
40\. I Am Possess'd of That is Mine (2017-05-12)  
41\. Revenge Now Goes (2017-06-08)  
42\. All Mad with Misery (2017-06-11)  
43\. Cursed be that Heart that Forced Us to this Shift! (2017-06-23)  
44\. For He Understands You are in Arms (2017-06-27)  
45\. That We May Know the Traitor and the Truth (2017-07-03)  
46\. So I Might Have Your Company in Hell (2017-07-12)  
47\. Requite Thy Gentleness (2017-07-18)  
48\. Pass the Remainder of Our Hateful Days (2017-07-26)  
49\. Drag the Villain Hither by the Hair (2017-07-27)  
50\. But Like a Drunkard Must I (2017-07-29)  
51\. 'Twill Vex Thy Soul to Hear What I Shall Speak (2017-07-30)  
52\. Shall She Live to Betray this Guilt of Ours? (2017-08-03)  
53\. Presents Well Worthy (2017-08-06)  
54\. Do This, and Be a Charitable Murderer (2017-08-11)  
55\. Alas, the Tender Boy, in Passion Moved (2017-08-12)  
56\. Now to the Bottom Dost Thou Search My Wound (2017-08-20)  
57\. And Will Revolt from Me to Succor Him (2017-08-22)  
58\. Look, Sirs, if You Can Find the Huntsman Out (2017-08-23)  
59\. For He Must Not Die (2017-08-29)  
60\. Hold Thee Dearly (2017-09-11)  
61\. Let Her Rest in Her Unrest Awhile (2017-09-13)  
62\. For I Must Talk of Murders, Rapes and Massacres (2017-09-17)  
63\. Each Wreathed in the Other's Arms (2017-09-26)  
64\. Reveal the Damn'd Contriver of this Deed (2017-09-28)  
65\. Thou Art Too Much Deceived (2017-10-01)  
66\. And Wander'd Hither to an Obscure Plot (2017-10-02)  
67\. Remember, Boys, I Pour'd Forth Tears in Vain (2017-10-05)  
68\. This Pleasant Chase (2017-10-07)  
69\. Blood and Revenge are Hammering in My Head (2017-10-26)  
70\. Entrails Feed the Sacrificing Fire (2017-10-29)  
71\. A Speedier Course Than Lingering Languishment (2017-11-11)  
72\. I Rush'd Upon Him, Surprised Him Suddenly (2018-01-08)  
73\. A Crimson River of Warm Blood (2018-02-11)  
74\. Had You Not By Wondrous Fortune Come (2018-02-12)  
75\. Gracious Triumpher (2018-02-14)  
76\. Villainies Ruthful to Hear, Yet Piteously Perform'd (2018-02-16)  
77\. 'Tis Present Death I Beg (2018-02-18)  
78\. What Villain Was it That Spake (2018-03-06)  
79\. Vengeance is in My Heart, Death in My Hands (2018-03-09)  
80\. And Triumphs Over Chance in Honour's Bed (2018-04-30)  
81\. Epilogue (2018-05-01)


	77. Bid Him Farewell

**Before: Remus**

A week had passed since Remus had found Harry in his wardrobe, and things were both easier for the man and harder.

He’d initially thought his problem had simply been that he was unaccustomed to loneliness. Which was strange. Remus had been so alone for so long before. Even now he was surrounded by others. This loneliness wasn’t born from a lack of company but rather from a lack of intimacy. Once he and Sirius had been reunited, he’d rarely spent a night outside the man’s presence. Remus entertained the idea that his recently rediscovered but now long unsatisfied libido had perhaps caused his inappropriate reaction to Harry. But since that night in the kitchen, Remus was no longer so sure.

When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the shape of the young man in his arms. He’d held him long enough that evening to memorise everything about it. His attraction had not been an issue at the time. For almost two hours he’d sat on the floor cradling the boy, and his only thought had been to comfort him.

Not that it was entirely innocent, and it certainly hadn’t been completely selfless. Despite the discomfort, if Remus had had his druthers, he’d never have let Harry go. As wrong as it felt to admit to himself, as horrible a person as he thought it made him, Remus knew he felt more for the boy than paternal pride and friendly fondness; felt more for him, even, than simple lust. Harry’s passion was magnetic, and his pain was a siren song which Remus’ nurturing instincts ached to quiet. Though, he hesitated to define it beyond that.

Sirius had adored Harry as well, but he had seen him as James’ torchbearer. Padfoot had never quite gotten over the loss of his best friend. Till the day he died, he still looked for him when conversations opened themselves for one of James’ witty comments, and Sirius would become melancholy and disoriented upon remembering the man was no longer there to make them. Azkaban had broken something essential in Sirius that Remus’ affection could never mend, resulting in lapses Remus watched over carefully but never remarked on. Correcting the man when he called Harry by the wrong name only pitched him into despondency, and so Remus had stopped altogether. He wondered sometimes if, as much as he loved him, Sirius had truly appreciated how individual and exceptional Harry was.

Despite his lingering feelings for James, Remus, for one, did not see Harry as a replacement for his father, no matter how much he looked like the man. He respected the boy in his own right, admired his fortitude and strength of character. What’s more, he saw potential in him. This boy was not shattered irreparably as Sirius had been. There was hope still that Harry could weather this storm intact if only he had someone to keep a steady hand on the till as he navigated it. Remus could be that for him. He could put his selfish conflict aside and soldier through. He’d been doing just that for several days now and through many private lessons with Harry, successfully pretending that nothing had changed between them since Remus had been his professor at Hogwarts.

Today, Remus was seeing the young man back off to that place, and he was a little stricken. He’d be following, of course, but for a little while, Remus would have to relinquish Harry. It made Remus uneasy. At least the trip was relatively short, and then Harry would be protected by the impenetrable defences of Hogwarts until Remus could join him there. Besides, they were taking every precaution, including this one Remus had come to deliver personally. He raised his hand to knock on the boys’ bedroom door, but before the deed was done, Harry came bounding unexpectedly up the stairs toward him, almost bowling him over as he swung on the banister.

"Harry," he greeted him sunnily. "There you are. I was just looking for you."

"I was on my way to breakfast," Harry explained breathlessly, returning Remus’ smile with ease. The man was glad to see he was still capable of it after recent events. "I've just come to fetch Archimedes."

"Ah," said Remus. "Don't worry. I'll be bringing your things separately, and I promise not to forget him."

Harry looked apprehensive. Remus told himself to relax, that he was being paranoid, that it was not due to the hand he rested on the small of Harry's back to guide him back down the stairs. 

"Our things aren't going on the train?" Harry asked.

"Well, _yours_ aren't," Remus explained evenly.

"Am _I_ not going on the train?" Harry asked, growing confused.

"Oh yes, you will, of course. But we're hoping to keep up the pretence that you are not. At least until we get you there and on your way," Remus told him, pausing on the final landing. There he took in hand a bundle he'd had tucked under his arm which Harry had not previously noticed.

"You'll be wearing this on the way to the platform," Remus said, handing the neatly folded square of silvery fabric to Harry. He was the only person Remus would even consider relinquishing the item to, and even so, it was still difficult.

"It was Sirius',” Remus told him somberly. “He'd left it to me because, at the time, he knew you already had your father's. However, since that one has been lost, I'm sure Sirius would rather this come to you."

Harry took the invisibility cloak from him, looking as gutted as Remus felt. He knew they were both missing the two men bitterly.

"I want you to keep this on until you are seated and the train gets going, alright?" Remus asked, waking Harry from his thoughts.

Harry nodded mutely, casting his eyes back down at the cloak. But Remus was at a loss, could think of nothing comforting to say, and he so simply lay a hand on Harry’s shoulder and nodded before rushing off to continue their preparations.

While the children finished their breakfast, Remus reviewed their gameplan with Albus via floo. It was fairly simple. The Ministry would send a car for them. And not an inconspicuous one. They wanted to make something of a show of the party leaving ‘without Harry’. Then, Remus would return to Grimmauld Place to collect the young man’s things, driving to Hogwarts and so acting as a decoy. His going would be slower and would hopefully distract the enemy until long after Harry was safely ensconced at school. It was far from foolproof and leaned heavily on assumptions, but it was what they had to work with.  

When it was time to set out, the students were corralled into the anteroom where they shuffled anxiously, flanked by Molly and Nymphadora while Remus stepped outside to be sure the coast was clear.

"Alright," he said, ducking back in. "The Ministry has a car waiting for us a block up. Harry, under your cloak, please.” Remus felt a flash of anxiety seeing him wink from sight but brushed it off. “No one is to talk to Harry or acknowledge his presence, understood? Harry, the same goes for you to the others, no talking,” he advised, having already lost track of the now invisible boy.

“Are we ready?" Remus called, hand on the doorknob. "Right. Let's go."

The parade was short but deliberately visible, the only catch being the unexpectedly sharp wind that Remus feared would lift Harry’s cloak. But bringing up the rear of the party, Remus saw no glimpse of the young man. He opened the door for him under the pretence of depositing Pigwidgeon in the back seat while the others fussed with stowing their luggage in the trunk. Only Remus and Nymphadora actually accompanied them to the station, leaving Molly waving on the sidewalk. The interior of the car was larger than it appeared from the outside, but they were still a bit cramped, and so Remus took the front passenger’s seat, glancing back anxiously the entire trip even though there was nothing to see.

When they reached the platform everyone said their goodbyes, and Remus realised with a pang that, in the bustle of their departure, he’d failed to say farewell to Harry. No sooner than he thought it, Remus felt unseen fingers wrap around his, and he gave the slightest startled gasp.

"Goodbye, Remus," Harry’s voice whispered softly right into Remus' ear, causing him to shiver. He dearly hoped the blush that burned his cheeks wasn’t as visible as it felt. "I'll see you soon."

Remus swallowed hard, taking a moment to compose himself before smiling at Hermione.

"Take care," he said warmly in her direction but speaking to Harry. And then the boy was gone, and Remus felt achingly alone.

The train whistle sounded. Remus watched the engine pull away, saying a silent prayer that it arrive safely before he turned to make his way back to the car. He felt certain the drive to Hogwarts would feel absolutely interminable.   


	78. Has Sorrow Made Thee Dote Already

**Before: Remus**

Remus was doing one last mental check to be sure he hadn’t forgotten to pack any of his or Harry’s important things when he heard someone calling his name, though he knew for a fact he was the only one in the house. It could only be the floo. He jogged to the sitting room but was brought up short by Minerva’s face floating in the hearth. Remus could tell by her expression that something was terribly wrong. Cold dread gripped his insides, and he moved closer with reluctant steps.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously before she could speak. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, Remus,” she began, her expression pinched with sorrow.

 _No_. He’d just seen the boy a few hours ago. It couldn’t be.

“It’s not Harry,” he said, shaking his head as if denying it could make it untrue. “Tell me it isn’t Harry,” Remus begged, falling to his knees on the rug to speak to her more easily.

Still overcome, Minerva shook her head. “No,” she finally managed. “It’s Weasley,” she told him apologetically as if knowing that answer was almost as devastating.  

Remus felt faint and sat heavily on the floor. He was ashamed to feel such relief, but it wasn’t as if it were unsullied. Remus closed his eyes and hung his head. For a moment they were both silent as they attempted to collect themselves.

“What happened, Minerva?” he asked quietly before clamping a hand over his mouth to hold in his grief.

“Dementors,” she explained as if she still couldn’t accept that such a thing could happen. “On the Hogwarts Express. Miraculously, he was the only casualty, but there were injuries. The children haven’t yet arrived, but when they do, it will be chaos here. Albus is informing Arthur and Molly as we speak, but...they’ll need someone, Remus,” she said, fixing him with an imploring look. “And neither Albus nor I can leave at the moment. Could you, perhaps, go and collect them and escort them here?” The request was urgent and could not be denied, but she asked as if she hated to impose. “We’ll arrange to fetch yours and Potter’s things later. I’m sure the House Elves can manage it.”

“Yes, of course,” Remus agreed immediately, though the thought made him sick to his stomach. Minerva nodded her thanks. “But...Harry?” he asked before she could take her leave. “How is he? Does he know?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, nodding sadly. “Potter knows. He’s not taking it well, according to Albus, and I hear Granger is even worse off. They’ll be arriving on the train with the others, and Albus will be speaking with him first thing. I’m certain he’ll fill you in, as well, when you get here,” she said, clearly trying to wrap things up. But then she was overcome with distress once again, reflecting on the situation. “That poor boy,” she said pityingly, referring to Harry. “He just cannot catch a break, can he? _He’ll_ need you, too, Remus.”

“Of course, Minerva. I’m on my way,” Remus told her, picking himself up off the floor. He wasn’t ready to face yet another set of grieving parents, but he really had no choice. She winked from sight, and Remus tried not to think of Harry and how much it killed him not to be able to be with the young man now. He hoped he would be alright until Remus arrived. But to do that, the man had to leave first.

He took a moment to compose himself before stepping out the front door and Apparating to the Burrow. Remus knocked but then quietly let himself in when there was no answer. Like Grimmauld Place, the house was Secret Kept and so rarely locked. He found the Weasleys in their living room, clinging to one another as if it were the only thing keeping them both upright. Their attention was glued to the hearth.

“Ah. There’s Remus now, I see,” Albus said from its depths. He looked harried and heartbroken, but his voice and manner were steady as always in spite of it. “Remus, if you would be so kind as to help Arthur and Molly alert the other Weasley children, I’d be most appreciative.”

“Of course,” Remus nodded, giving the couple a sympathetic look and laying a hand supportively on each of their shoulders.

“I am truly sorry. We’ll speak further when you arrive,” Albus promised. They nodded tearfully, and then the Headmaster was gone, and Remus was on his own.  

The news clearly hadn’t yet sunk in for either of them. They looked shocked and confused. Remus decided he should perhaps try to keep things moving, attempt to get them to the school before they fell apart, which Remus knew was only a matter of time. He’d never seen a closer brood than the Weasley clan. 

“Bill and Charlie. How do we reach them?” Remus asked softly, stroking Molly’s back. Arthur seemed not to have heard him at all, but Molly shook her head as if she wasn’t sure or else could not focus on Remus’ question.

“Fred and George?” he asked instead. “Are they at the shop?”

Finally, Molly nodded, and Remus cautiously left them to toss a bit of powder in the floo to call up the twins.

As Arthur murmured comfort to Molly (who had begun to weep quietly) Remus delivered the sad news to George and asked him to please contact his brothers. He explained that he would be taking their parents to speak with Albus, that as far as he understood, Ginny was to arrive shortly on the train and they should all meet them there. George thanked him and hurried away, seeming not to want to break down in front of the man.

It was then that Molly began to wail. Remus had heard it before when she had faced the boggart at Grimmauld Place. He knew it would soon become worse, though, because it was no longer an illusion, and when that realisation set in she would rage as well as despair. He just hoped he managed to get her to the school before that happened.

“T’will be alright,” Arthur told her, patting her as she clung to him, but Remus could tell the man was in no state to properly deal with her distress. He couldn’t seem to focus on it and simply kept repeating the same comments over and over. Remus knew that feeling. That lost, not-quite-there daze that one feels when hearing news so awful one’s mind cannot grasp it entirely.

The night Albus had told Remus that Sirius had murdered Peter and also, apparently, betrayed James and Lily, Remus had shut down. It was so completely unfathomable, his mind had rebelled, turning off almost entirely as if in self-preservation. He still could not properly piece together the days following in his memory. It was as though he’d simply lost an entire week of his life. To that day, he was still mortified that he could not recall James’ and Lily’s funeral; only that it had occurred and that he had been present but had not been capable of speaking at the event. They had deserved for Remus, as the last of them still standing, to pay tribute to their memory, but to his everlasting shame, Remus simply had not been able.  

Remus came to Arthur’s rescue now, though, urging Molly to take a seat on the sofa with him. Without a word, she turned and transferred her grip to the lapels of Remus’ cardigan. Thankfully, Fred arrived within minutes, no doubt leaving just as soon as he’d manage to settle himself. He’d obviously been crying but was putting on a brave enough face. He strode forward and hugged his father fiercely before noticing his mother going to pieces on the couch. He nodded to Remus to leave it to him, and the werewolf respectfully withdrew to look after the young man’s mute father.

It took some time and a bit of doing, but sons were located and spoken to, and eventually, Fred and Remus walked the dazed couple out of their house and wrapped an arm around each of them to Apparate them to Hogwarts. The train had come and had emptied. Remus tried to navigate them as best he could down quiet corridors that contained no rushing faculty or weeping school children, but it was not a simple task. Then they waited outside Albus' office for both the rest of the family and for Albus to finish speaking with Harry.

As hectic as the ordeal had been so far, it did not truly erupt until the Weasley’s second eldest son appeared. It was not until then that Molly allowed herself to well and truly fall apart, as if knowing Arthur was not strong enough to bear both their griefs and the only real comfort she would find was in the arms of her remaining children. With the arrival of each additional son, she seemed to unravel a bit further: tearfully ordering George to Ginny’s side in the hospital wing, screamingly disowning a horrified Percy, and then dissolving into complete hysterics until Bill’s presence finally soothed her.

It was heart-wrenching and exhausting, and as fond as he was of the family, all Remus really wanted was to find his ward. Once Bill arrived, Remus finally had the opportunity to catch sight of Harry and Albus waiting with respectful silence to be noticed. Remus might have thought his empathy spent at this point, but it was instantly replenished on seeing the young man.

Harry looked to be barely standing, and the blankness of his expression was unsettling. With one last glance at the distraught family to reassure himself he was no longer needed, Remus strode over to the two of them. The look he bestowed on Harry as he approached was one of deepest sympathy and concern. Remus well knew what the young man was feeling at this moment. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn't seem to find the proper words. He knew there were no proper words, really. So he only wet his lips, drawing back the unspoken sentiment in favour of a warm embrace.

Harry wrenched away from Remus, almost violently, and the man didn't try to conceal the hurt on his face as Harry shied again when he reached out to him a second time for a milder contact. Harry turned his head sheepishly but was unrelenting in his determination that the man would not touch him.

Remus was gutted, but this moment was not about him. Still, it was hard to accept. Despite his resolution to put his feelings for the young man aside, it seemed the damage had already been done, and Remus’ already aching heart broke further. 

"Remus, would you?" Albus asked tactfully. "I really must," he elaborated, gesturing toward the gathering down the hall. Remus, though distracted by the exchange with Harry, pulled his questioning gaze from the young man's face long enough to nod vaguely at the Headmaster.

"Yes, of course," he murmured. Albus released Harry and, when satisfied the youth could stand on his own, strode swiftly over to the Weasleys. Remus and the boy were left alone.

There was so much Remus would like to say to Harry, but doing so just then would have been selfish. They had time. Remus hoped they had time. Once Harry had had a chance to grieve, they could start again. Remus prayed to every god he knew that they could start again.

"Well," he said softly, cautiously, still shaken by Harry's rejection. "Let's get you to the hospital wing, shall we?"

"No." Harry would not even look at him. “I’m not hurt,” he said, his voice colourless and flat, “just tired.”

"I'll see you to your dormitory," Remus offered understandingly.

Harry simply shook his head. Remus was patient but at a loss.

"Where would you go, then, Harry?"

The young man winced but did not answer. The question seemed to upset him, and he looked suddenly desperate and despairing. His eyes followed the Weasleys’ advancement as Albus led them up the hallway and, the closer they came, the nearer to panic Harry seemed to become.

Remus was undone, not knowing what to do for him, wanting to unravel on his behalf but unable, wanting to comfort him but not allowed to touch him.

Before the situation became critical, however, Severus stepped from the shadows beside them. His sudden appearance seemed to break the building tension. He regarded Harry silently for a moment, and Remus eyed him apprehensively. The last thing they needed was a tactless comment from this man.

He ended up surprising them both.

"Follow me," was all Severus said in a low, mild tone before turning to glide down the corridor.

Harry followed without question, automatically, as if he had no will of his own. Remus moved to remain close, not understanding what was happening and not entirely trusting the vampire. Harry looked as if he might fall over at any moment, and so Remus held out a hand to hover near Harry's back, just in case he might need to catch him. But the young man did not falter. He followed the Potions Master doggedly. The other two were silent as Severus entered the dungeons, and so Remus held his own tongue, but part of him wanted to demand where Severus thought he was leading them.

Finally, Severus halted before a depression in the corridor wall, identical to several they had passed already, and cast an uneasy glance at Harry as though loath to reveal too much to him. Harry’s eyes were unfocused and half-lidded, making Remus increasingly anxious. Severus regarded him a few moments more before delivering what Remus assumed was a password in a rushed, unintelligible whisper.

As though the stones had been mist stirred aside by a breath of wind, a door appeared in the depression. Severus tapped it once with his wand, and it fell open without a sound. He strode inside as though it was simply understood the other two should follow.

Harry was slightly hesitant to cross the threshold. Remus was seconds away from assuring him he did not have to when the boy took a stuttering step inside and looked around him with vague interest. It was the first time that evening that some of his old self seemed to stir, and Remus was silently but powerfully thankful. After a moment, the young man stepped aside to let Remus through the door, as well.

Remus had never been in Severus’ private quarters before, but that was clearly what these were. He regarded Severus with a question in his eyes, not wanting to hash things out in front of Harry but needing some idea of what was going on. The Potions Master ignored him and spoke to Harry instead.

"This way," he prompted curtly, opening one of the doors leading from the room.

Harry's eyes drifted to a door other than the one Severus indicated, and he studied it with obvious curiosity. It was cracked open, and Remus could smell the strong odour of brewing potions leaking from within. Severus followed Harry's gaze and swiftly strode over to shut it with a snap, casting Harry a sharp look.

" _This_ way," he repeated as he moved back to Harry's door and pushed it open further. His tone had almost been threatening, which caused Remus to bristle. If the man so much as thought of being abusive, Remus would not hesitate to snatch Harry up and carry him out of this place, no matter how loathsome the young man found his touch.

"Is that your bedroom, then?" Harry asked, unfazed, waving a finger at the other room.

"And just how many bedrooms do you think I have here in ‘Snape Manor'?" Severus clipped with a roll of his eyes. Harry appeared confused, and Severus waved his wand impatiently, igniting a lamp in the room he was assigning the young man, revealing a bed and nightstand.

Though he’d seemed to have been trying to ignore Remus’ presence, Harry turned to him now as if asking for permission to do as Severus said. Remus still wasn’t convinced this - whatever it was - was a good idea. But Harry had very clearly reached the end of his strength, and so Remus nodded, urging the young man forward.

"But where will you sleep?" Harry asked the Potions Master, looking down at the small bed.

"You ask as though you care, Mr. Potter," Severus replied wryly. Then he slipped from the sitting room and through the door Harry had not been allowed to ask questions about, returning momentarily bearing a small phial which he pushed into the palm of Harry's hand.

"Drink this."

Before Harry could even inquire what it was, Severus had withdrawn again. Harry turned a lost, uncertain look to Remus, and the man tried to appear reassuring, but Severus abruptly shut the door between them with an echoing clank. To say Remus was less than pleased was a vast understatement. Before he could voice his vehement objections, Severus swept past him again, motioning for Remus to follow him.

Remus was irritated by the man’s dismissive manner. He stood fuming for a moment before cursing under his breath and setting off after him.

The door Severus had disappeared through was safeguarded from within with a number of heavy locks. Remus eyed them uneasily as he passed, finding a spiral staircase at his feet. He tried to rein in his frustration, but he was emotionally fatigued, and each step he descended only seemed to stoke Remus’ aggravation further. Before he’d fully cleared the last one, he found he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“ _Severus_ ,” he said curtly, causing the man to finally pause and turn to him. The exasperation on the man’s face did nothing to endear him to Remus. “Why are we here?” he demanded.

Severus did not answer straight away. He simply looked at the werewolf as if he might be slightly dense.

“He wants solitude,” Severus said plainly.

“What? You’ve spoken with him?”

Severus sighed, giving Remus a withering look, and it was all Remus could do to contain himself.

“I didn’t have to,” Severus replied. “Not everyone wants to be stroked and coddled when they are in pain,” he said snidely. “Some of us need quiet and seclusion.”

“And what? You’ve just decided that Harry is ‘some of us’?” Remus asked, growing properly angry.

“Did you not see him?” Severus demanded, returning Remus’ anger and then some. “He did not want to go to the infirmary, neither did he want to go to his dorm room, and he almost had a bloody panic attack watching that bawling herd of gingers stomping his way. He wants to be alone,” the vampire veritably shouted.

Remus raked his hands over his face to resist the urge to punch the irritable git. Severus might very well be right, but _gods_ , did he have to be such an intolerable arsehole about it? Remus took a steadying breath, and then another.

“What did you give him?” he asked when he thought he could manage a civil tone.

“Dreamless Sleep,” Severus shrugged as if that should be obvious.

“And so, that’s it?” Remus asked with an exasperated scowl. “He’s just going to sleep in your bed for a while?”

“Clearly,” Severus scowled back as if there was nothing at all wrong with such a thing. And really, Remus thought, suddenly abashed, with anyone other than Remus, there probably wasn’t.

“And where will you sleep?” Remus asked, much less hostile than a moment ago. Severus gestured to the corner where a cot stood. Its blankets were dishevelled, looking to have been recently used.

“I almost never rest upstairs anymore,” Severus informed him. “Too many things here require my close attention. Namely, a certain Wolfsbane potion,” he said pointedly.

That served to finally subdue the werewolf. He’d been so focused on getting answers from Severus, he hadn’t really taken in their surroundings. Looking around him now, he noticed they stood in the man’s private laboratory. Remus knew he was a drain on Severus' time and resources, and he appreciated, more than Severus could possibly know, that he brewed Remus’ potion despite their strained history.

Remus was simply out of sorts because of Harry’s reaction to him earlier, he reflected. He wasn’t sure how much further the man was being inconvenienced by Harry’s presence, but Severus obviously had the young man’s best interest in mind. Remus decided to make peace with the arrangement.

“You’ll alert me,” he asked anxiously, “when he’s ready to-?”

“Be stroked?” Severus sneered. Remus completely failed to prevent the blush that lit his cheeks.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

“Of course,” Severus shrugged. “Though, I find myself out of floo powder,” he murmured as if to himself, looking away as he pondered the matter.

Just bloody brilliant.

“How am I to get out of here, then?” Remus sighed impatiently. He was beyond exhausted, and he could not tolerate this man for much longer. At least, not without dooming the civility of their acquaintance forever. Severus considered for a moment and then rolled his eyes.

“I’ll draw you a map,” he said, clearly put out but nonetheless sweeping over to his desk to take up a quill.

The man seemed to sweep everywhere, Remus noted irritably. Everything he did seemed unnecessarily dramatic, and Remus found it almost wearying. After a moment, Severus had sketched and carefully torn out a small map of the dungeons, or the route Remus was to take to escape them, anyway. He offered it to Remus, but the man did not accept it. It was little more than chicken scratch, and Remus raised an eyebrow at Severus.

“Which way is up?” he asked, unable to make any sense of the thing.

Severus grumbled and snatched it back, adding a ‘top’ and ‘bottom’, as well as a hasty and sarcastic compass and several arrows before offering it to Remus again with a smirk.

Holy Hell, the man was infuriating. Remus plucked the map from Severus’ fingers and turned to storm out. 

“ _Thank_ you,” he said tersely over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs.

“My pleasure,” Severus tossed sneeringly at his retreating back. The comment made Remus pause, but he powered through the impulse to return and knock the piss out the man, continuing up the stairs and out the door into the dungeons to further lessen the temptation.

_Holy Hell._

Remus needed a drink.

      

  


	79. No Noise, But Silence

**Before: Remus**

Remus met Severus walking out of his door just as Remus was about to knock.

“He’s still in the _bloody_ bath,” was all the man said before sweeping past Remus and into the shadows of the dungeons. Remus watched him until he disappeared, puzzled at his more-irritable-than-usual attitude. There was just no accounting for the man, though, and Remus shrugged it off to step into Severus’ quarters to collect his ward.

It was quiet within. The bedroom door was ajar and Remus cautiously peeked inside, even though Severus had just told him Harry was still in the bath. The room was so small and bare. And in need of a good airing. Remus stepped back into the sitting room and noted the lack of furniture there, as well. He knew Severus spent most of his time in the lab, but still, how could anyone bear such a spartan lifestyle?

Remus _required_ a certain amount of comfort. No matter where he went or how often he moved, no matter how disappointing his surroundings, a soft place to sit, a few sketches on the walls, and a stack of books here or there instantly turned any space into home. The austerity of Severus’ rooms reminded Remus depressingly of a monastery, one where one devotes oneself to potions and bitterness instead of prayer and reflection.

Having nowhere to sit, Remus rocked on his heels and wondered what might be taking so long. He didn’t want to think too much about the fact that Harry was in the bath, it was too tempting to his imagination. But there was nothing in the room to distract or occupy him. He approached the door to the bathroom and listened, just to get some indication of how much longer he might have to wait, but there was absolutely no sound. No splash. No shuffle of feet as the young man got dressed. Nothing.

“Harry?” he called, perplexed. He waited, but there was no reply, so he knocked. Still nothing. He knocked harder.

When he still received no reply, Remus became anxious. Even if Harry hadn't heard him because his head had been under water, say to rinse his hair, Remus would have heard some movement; the slosh of water, _something_. How long had he been in there already?

“Harry,” he called more loudly, knocking again.

Remus’ heart began to thump in his chest. Had Harry slipped and fallen and hit his head? Surely Severus would have heard such a thing.

But...what if it wasn’t an accident? Severus had given Remus no indication of Harry’s state of mind beyond that Harry had been voluntarily unconscious for days now. What if he had simply decided to make the condition permanent?

"Harry,” Remus shouted, properly frightened now, pounding on the door. Silence stretched on the other side, and Remus couldn’t banish the mental image of Harry floating face down in the water, or laying back in the tub with his wrists pouring red down its sides.

“Harry! Harry, answer me,” he demanded, attacking the knob but finding it would not budge. “Are you alright? Harry! Harry, let me in!" he called frantically.

He couldn’t do it. Remus couldn’t lose another loved one. There was so much he hadn’t yet shared with the young man, so much Harry had not yet experienced and enjoyed. The thought that he might end his life prematurely was more than Remus could bear. He had to know whether Harry was alright, and he had to know it now. Remus stepped back from the door to get a running start and applied his shoulder to it with force, but it was much sturdier than it looked. Remus stepped back further and braced himself.   

Before he could knock the door from its hinges, Harry’s voice sounded from inside and Remus’ relief, coupled with his aborted run at the door, almost sent him to the floor.

"I'm here! Remus, I'm _alright_ ," Harry called.

Remus released a ragged sigh and rested gratefully against the door, as his legs did not want to hold him. Once he had taken a moment to say a small prayer of thanks for the young man’s safety, Remus became aggravated. Not only was the boy okay, but he had the nerve to be testy about Remus breaking in his door.

He returned Harry’s irritation with interest. "Harry, what on _Earth-_ "

"I dozed off," Harry explained before Remus could set in. "I was sleeping."

" _Sleeping?_ ” Did he use that excuse for everything? “Harry, I've been pounding on this door for ages," Remus huffed.

“I'm sorry?" Harry called back.

Remus gave a weary sigh and swallowed his aggravation. Perhaps it had been a side effect of using the Dreamless Sleep for so long. It didn’t matter, though, if Harry was really okay.

"That's dangerous, you know,” he pointed out, still feeling the young man deserved to be chastised for nearly giving him a heart attack. "You might have-"

"Give me five more minutes," Harry cut him off.

Remus heard evidence of hurried movement in water and then the tap turning on. Apparently, Harry hadn’t even really started. Remus sighed again and wandered back to the centre of the sitting room where he waited, perusing the contents of Severus’ bookshelf. After a few minutes, he heard the bathroom door open behind him, but he took an extra moment to prepare himself before turning to face the young man.

He was grateful he had. Harry came out of the bathroom wet and bare-chested, and Remus didn’t think he was imagining the glint in Harry’s eye that indicated the provocation was intentional. He wasn't sure why he was being tested, but Remus had been ready for the challenge and simply gave the young man a politely apologetic look.

"I'm sorry for earlier," Remus began with gentle sincerity. "When you didn't answer, I was afraid…"

He certainly didn’t want to give him any ideas, though, so Remus wet his lips and took a breath, choosing his words carefully.

"How are you?" he asked softly instead. Harry’s closed expression didn't change as he regarded Remus for a beat longer, as though giving the man a chance to add to the question somehow, before finally looking away. He swallowed and shook his head faintly.

"Severus told us you were up and about again," Remus explained. "If you feel up to it, there's still time to join some of the others for breakfast. It's not quite over,” he offered. Surely Harry was ready to be away from this dark, dusty cellar and to interact with people who were not hostile to his very existence. “If you'd like, that is."

Harry stared silently at Remus for a long while, and the two seemed to search each other's countenance for some sort of answer, the only difference being that Remus wasn’t sure of Harry’s question.

"I'll have to at some point, won't I?" the young man eventually asked in a dull voice. "I suppose I should just get on with it."

Remus nodded thoughtfully, though neither moved. Harry cast his gaze to the floor as though searching for his suddenly elusive determination there. Without bothering to find a room, he put his arms through his sleeves and yanked them to his elbows before lifting his arms to pull his shirt over his head. He had obvious difficulty, as he was not yet fully dry, and Remus couldn’t help but take the opportunity, while he couldn’t be seen, to drink in the sight of Harry’s muscles moving beneath his skin.

But that wasn’t the truth. Of course, he could help it. He _should_. Remus chose not to, and when Harry finally managed to wrestle the thing over his dishevelled cranium, he only just glimpsed Remus' stare hungrily chasing the last of Harry's bare flesh as it disappeared beneath his t-shirt.

Remus knew he’d been caught. Harry stared at him almost smugly, and when their eyes met, Remus’ cheeks coloured. There was no use denying the look or what it meant. He could not take it back. Though Remus felt an apology might be in order for the rudeness of his actions, he was becoming less and less ashamed of his motivations for them.

Remus was, essentially, gay. He’d been with and cared for women, but his preference, as far back as he could remember, had been for the male form.  Harry was a rather exceptional example of it, and old enough to be considered so. Remus really felt that as long as he did not act on it, he shouldn’t be faulted for the attraction. Of course, ogling his ward _was_ acting on it in a way, and Remus adopted a manner now through which he tried to convey that he would face whatever question or condemnation that came from the young man.

But Harry didn't confront him. His scowl dissolved, and he looked in turns confused and self-conscious. He ultimately seemed to settle on...flattered? Or was that simply Remus projecting his hopes? Either way, Remus’ stomach fluttered optimistically. The moment turned slightly awkward, and Harry looked away before bending to pull on his shoes.

"Okay then," he said, straightening again.

With no other conversation, Remus led the way out of the dungeons.

Unlike their initial journey through these passages, Harry did not shy from Remus’ company. He walked at Remus’ side and seemed to gravitate toward the man as they travelled. Remus almost could not concentrate on navigating the route for trying and failing to prevent his eyes from being drawn to the young man, curiously attempting to work out this sudden change in him. Harry would frequently catch him at it, but would simply blush. And several times Remus would look over at him only to find Harry’s eyes already turned his way. It was heady and almost flirtatious, and Remus had to remind himself often that it was not allowed to be, despite that it was on Harry’s part as much as his own.

With no major mishaps, they emerged from the dungeons. It was like stepping into the real world out of a dream. Now, though, was the time to set daydreams aside. The dangers they faced did not give them the luxury of entertaining them.

"Understand, Harry," he began hesitantly, to Harry’s obvious chagrin, "we don't want to rush you. However, Dumbledore and I think it best if you began your studies again straight away."

Harry didn't respond, so Remus offered a stumbling elaboration.

"Not the more strenuous subjects, mind you. Transfiguration and Occlumency can wait a bit. Well, actually you really should consider continuing Occlumency as soon as possible,” he pointed out, though he hated to do so. “But the others lessons, such as Hagrid's and my own...especially my own," Remus said, pausing to will away his slight blush, “should be continued immediately."

"Yeah. Alright," Harry mumbled, his eyes fixed on the path before him.

Remus hated feeling he was adding to the young man’s burdens. He hated that Harry had to bear any at all and that Remus could not shoulder them for him. He sighed and reached to comfort the young man, but then he remembered Harry’s reaction the last time he’d tried to touch him. The young man seemed different now, but Remus did not want to injure the progress they’d made.

"It's only that, the threat hasn't passed, Harry," Remus apologised. "If anything it's grown. We want to be prepared for whatever we might encounter."

Harry did not reply. He seemed to be lost in dark and troubled thoughts. It was almost as if he were no longer aware of his surroundings or Remus’ presence. The desolation that had blessedly been absent during their walk had returned.

Now, Remus did lay his hand on Harry’s shoulder - gently, timidly - and Harry brought his own to meet it. It was unexpected, but not as much as when Harry proceeded to work his fingers beneath the older man's.

Remus hardly dared to breathe. They stopped walking. Slowly, Harry turned his gaze to meet Remus', and his eyes were gently imploring. Remus swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Harry looked so lost, and Remus’ first and almost overwhelming impulse was to wrap his arms around him. He ached that he could not. He ached that he had no answers, only affection.

Harry seemed about to speak when the moment was abruptly shattered by a student turning quickly out of a nearby doorway and almost running them over. Remus realised suddenly where they were and how they must look and became flustered. He gently but quickly untangled his fingers from Harry's and stepped aside to let the boy pass, watching him anxiously until he turned a nearby corner to make sure he hadn’t been recognised. The boy seemed too young to remember Remus’ tenure, but he’d been advised to stay out of sight as much as possible.   

"Dumbledore thinks it best if I kept a low profile while I'm here," Remus explained to Harry’s questioning expression, "considering the circumstances surrounding my resignation before. You understand."

Harry nodded, but Remus was now uncomfortable and slightly paranoid. If he were recognised, he may have to leave Hogwarts, and that meant having to leave Harry.

"I'll be in my old quarters, should you need me for anything," Remus offered hurriedly, already backing away. He wanted badly to say more, to do more, but he could not think of what.

"Good luck today, Harry," he said as sincerely as he could. He turned to go, cursing his condition and the limitations it placed on him. He hated the feeling that he was abandoning the young man, but he was unable to do more for him at the moment, not if he wanted to be there for him in the days to come.


	80. Some Never-Heard-of Torturing Pain

**Before: Remus**

He should have been sleeping, but he was not. He could not, though the words swam on the page he was attempting to read, and his eyes ached dryly. Remus rubbed them firmly with his fingertips, but it only seemed to make matters worse. His lesson for Harry had been planned sufficiently for some time, but the hours stretched on with no sign of sleepiness, and he was revisiting it just to fill the time.

Otherwise, he’d merely be thinking about the young man himself, and that was dangerous. Earlier in bed, as he tried to force himself into slumber, Remus had found himself idly fondling himself remembering Harry’s supple, freshly-scrubbed skin beaded with water and wondering what it must taste like. When he’d realized what he was doing, he'd abruptly forced himself to get up entirely to walk off his arousal.

But so much of Remus' life revolved around the young man. Even when he wasn’t thinking of Harry sexually, Remus found he was always still thinking of him. Besides contemplating what the young man would need to know to prepare him against coming dangers and generally worrying about his well-being, Harry also reminded Remus all too keenly of those he had loved so dearly. Friends whom Remus still missed every day, no matter how long ago they’d been lost.

Every time Remus thought of those loved ones, he recalled all the things Harry had done or said that evoked them. They lived on in Harry, and whenever he and Remus interacted, the man recognised a dozen small mannerisms in him which Remus had been familiar with since long before the boy himself had been born. Harry was every inch as stubborn as Sirius had been. He was so like his father, too, but not quite. Harry was bold and loyal and fearless, though sadly, he lacked much of that man’s carefree nature, which could hardly be helped. But Harry had the best of Lily, as well. He was modest and fierce and protective. Harry was all of them, and they would have been so proud of him.

And so disappointed in Remus, now.

He sighed and sat back on the sofa, looking to the mantle and the photo he’d placed there of Sirius and himself, smiling fondly at each other and clasping arms. That man’s touch was becoming harder and harder for Remus to recall, even though he’d last known it mere months ago.

Sirius’ love had been ardent and steadfast but a bit desperate. It had bolstered Remus in many ways, but it had also wearied him. Still, it had been nice, after so many years without, to crave the touch of another human being and actually be able, be allowed, to reach out and satisfy that craving. It had been gratifying to be craved and touched, as well.

Was it his loneliness that allowed him to feel for the young man the way he did? Remus’ mind still rebelled against the notion. No matter how staggering the effect of the glamour suddenly being lifted had been, could that really justify his lingering and persistent attraction?

What in bloody hell was wrong with him? Guardians were not supposed to lust for their wards. Grown men were not meant to thirst for their best friends’ children. It was wrong in so many ways. Remus knew he was meant to take up Sirius’ mantle, as Sirius had taken up James’. Though it was hard, yet, for Remus to temper his reaction to the young man. Harry was not making it easy for him, either. He’d wrung confessions from the man already, spoken and otherwise.

None of that was important though, really, he reflected. Remus’ discomfort was negligible compared to his need to protect and foster the young man. Barring Harry making a pass at him (which was so absurd, Remus chuckled to himself for even considering it) Remus knew his sense of responsibility would always overpower his baser impulses in the end. He’d been tested on that account already and risen to the challenge.

He hated thinking he’d made Harry uncomfortable before, but he strongly suspected it was the subject of homosexuality in general, and not Remus’ specifically, that had caused Harry’s conflicted behaviour. It wasn’t something straight young men tended to devote much thought to except to reflect with disgust on the mechanics of it. Harry seemed to be coming slowly to accept Remus and his inclinations. And really, if his lycanthropy was forgivable, how could anything else short of rape and murder be otherwise? Harry was an intelligent and open-minded youth. They’d weather this adjustment period and come out alright in the end, Remus was sure of it.

Having eased his conscience and his arousal, Remus turned his thoughts again to bed when a knock sounded at his door. Remus scowled and glanced at the clock on his mantle. Anyone who needed to contact him would surely have just shown up in his floo. The knock had been timid, as well. Surely, it wasn’t…

Despite his recent, convoluted contemplation and self-assurance that he was above such reactions, Remus immediately found himself both thrilled and apprehensive. He rose from the sofa and peeked through his door into the darkened corridor, but he saw no one. Saw no one, but he smelled…

"Harry?" he asked uncertainly.

Harry’s head - and only his head - suddenly became visible a few feet away, and Remus’ heart nearly jumped from his chest before he realised Harry was wearing his cloak and had only pulled away a portion of it.

"Hullo, Professor," he greeted Remus with a bashful smile.

Remus quickly recovered from the shock of having his ward materialise from thin air in front of him, though he still wrestled with the young man’s presence.

"I thought we'd had this conversation already," he said as lightly as he could, forcing a smile. "I'm just Remus now, remember? But why are you out of bed at this hour?" Remus asked with sudden concern. "Is something the matter?"

"I can't sleep," Harry told him haltingly.

Remus thought he could tell there was more to the young man’s visit, but he decided to take the statement at face value and nodded his sad understanding. It was more than regret that pinched his expression, however. Even if no one but the two of them knew of Remus’ confliction, inviting Harry into his private quarters at such a late hour was highly inappropriate, and he couldn’t stop himself from subtly glancing up and down the corridor to ensure no one was witnessing the event.

One look at Harry’s troubled expression, however, instantly made up Remus’ mind for him. Harry was in need, and Remus’ duty was to the well-being of his ward, everything else be damned.

"Come in, Harry," he offered, despite his misgivings. "I'll make us some tea."

Hesitantly, Harry stepped inside and waited while Remus rushed to clear away the things he'd been studying to make room for the young man and their eventual refreshments. He seemed to be feeling awkward. Though, Remus was unsure if it was because he’d never actually visited before or if Remus’ attention earlier still made him uncomfortable.

"Come on in, Harry," Remus said more warmly, trying to put him at ease. He suspected his own discomfort was having an effect on the young man, and he forced himself to relax. He beckoned him further inside with a smile, as Harry was still hovering near the door as though he might bolt.

"I'll have this in hand soon enough." Remus deposited the former mess in a slightly less disorderly pile atop a rickety side table. "Make yourself comfortable. If you can," he invited with a slightly embarrassed laugh, gesturing to the motley assortment of furnishings scattered about the room. "I'll just be a moment with the tea."

Still wearing his cloak, Harry shuffled further inside and gave Remus an uncertain but encouraging smile, and Remus left him to find a seat while he rushed to arrange the promised tea. He glanced over at the boy as he worked, watching him perch uneasily on the couch before nervously rising and inspecting some of Remus’ things. The man hadn’t really decorated, but as always, he’d set up a few sketches just make the place homier, and he was gratified to see Harry admiring them.

Remus had no serious aspirations as an artist, but the exercise did feed his soul. He always took a sketch pad and a nub of charcoal with him for nature walks, jotting down his impressions of the various creatures he met. The Wild ran in his own veins, and Remus felt a certain kinship with them. He liked to recognise the savage intelligence and personality in each animal, as if to convince himself that, even when he was a beast, he was not necessarily a monster. He rarely shared his work with anyone, but he was exceptionally pleased when others enjoyed it. That Harry seemed to was especially rewarding.

Despite his preoccupation, Remus managed to locate his tea tray and two clean teacups, and when he’d arranged all the necessary pieces and made his way back to the sofa with them, he found Harry holding the picture from the mantlepiece. With his cloak on, it looked to be hovering in thin air before the young man’s face as he studied it with obvious perplexity.

Remus sighed. Harry might not ever truly understand Remus’ relationship with his godfather, but hopefully, in time, it might not strike him as so terribly strange and unnatural. Remus, however, was not feeling particularly inclined to have a conversation about it at the moment.

"Care to take a seat, Harry?" he asked brightly, startling the young man. For a terrifying moment, it looked as if he would fumble and drop the picture. It seemed to dance in place before Harry apparently got it back in hand and returned it to the safety of its stand.

Embarrassed, Harry hurried to sit on the sofa. Remus glanced at the photo, feeling guilty. It felt as if the man watched the two of them and judged Remus’ intentions. He ignored his misgivings and his urge to turn the photo face down and slipped the tray onto the coffee table instead.

"So," he said as he poured, "trouble sleeping." It wasn't a question, but hopefully, it was recognisable as an invitation. Harry nodded as invisible hands accepted the steaming cup Remus passed to him.

"Actually, I think maybe I've just had my fill of it for a while," he said a little grudgingly.

Remus nodded his understanding, pouring his own tea, but he was distracted. He wanted the young man to feel at ease, and if being mostly invisible made him so, Remus wanted to allow it, but he found he simply could not concentrate on conversation for the oddity of floating faces and teacups.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, returning the teapot to its tray. "But would you mind removing your cloak, Harry? It's a little disconcerting watching a disembodied head sipping tea," he explained with a soft chuckle.

Harry shrugged the cloak off with an apologetic smile. He seemed to have merely forgotten he wore the thing, and that made Remus feel better about his request that he remove it.

"I'm glad I didn't wake you," Harry stammered into his tea, which he had taken up again in his now visible hands.

"It would have been quite alright if you had," Remus assured him, settling onto the other end of the sofa. The thing suddenly seemed entirely too small, and it occurred to him that it was considered a ‘loveseat’, though he banished the thought the instant it intruded. "There's little danger of it, to be honest," he went on to mask his vexation.

"You aren't sleeping?" Harry asked innocently.

Remus gave a small laugh and shook his head. He ruefully contemplated his tea. It certainly wouldn’t help his sleeplessness, but it might soothe some of his resentment of it.

"You might ask Snape to make you something," Harry suggested helpfully.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," said Remus. He could just imagine the acid look he’d get if he were ever to work up the courage to ask.

"Why not?"

"Because it's my problem, and it isn't his responsibility," Remus replied with a polite smile. "Professor Snape does quite enough for me already." Harry seemed to consider this with some distress.

“I can always ask Poppy for something, if necessary. But don't fret about me, Harry," Remus said, lightly patting the hand that lay between them on the cushion and then immediately wondering at his own audacity. "I'm fine," he lied with a smile.

Harry nodded but seemed distracted. Remus had wanted to let Harry open up to him when he was ready, but he’d heard about the incident at breakfast and knew the young man was wrestling with so much. He decided to give him a nudge.

"How was your day?" Remus asked. He tried to keep his tone light and conversational, but suspected his attempt at nonchalance was somewhat betrayed by the concerned attention in his eyes. Harry looked away disconsolately.

"It was...It was alright," Harry finally managed to murmur, failing to convince either of them. "McGonagall's given me my schedule. And all the homework I've missed," he added with a wince. "But I haven't looked at any of it yet. I didn't quite have the stomach for a week's worth of History of Magic."

Remus felt for him but was perplexed.

"A week? I'm sorry, Harry. Did she not explain?"

Harry looked at him blankly.

"You've only missed one day of classes," Remus said brightly, hoping to make Harry feel better about his suspected workload. "They had to be postponed, naturally," he explained, somewhat more sombrely. "Come Monday there were still quite a few students in the infirmary. Nothing too serious. But most were quite unable to attend class. Actually, for a moment, we thought Hogwarts might have to close its doors. After word of the attack went out, parents began arriving in droves to remove their children. And after the investigation, the Ministry seemed to be of much the same mind as the parents. Dumbledore only convinced them to allow us to remain open on the condition that additional wards be placed on the grounds. That occupied the staff for a couple of days. And then day before yesterday there was the matter of...the memorial."

Remus' eyes cut to Harry to gauge his reaction, but Harry gave none at all, which Remus found more concerning than if he’d broken down. Remus set his cup on the table and turned to him.

"I'm sorry you missed it, Harry," Remus said with aching sincerity. "We'd debated on waking you, but Professor Snape had said it was ill-advised to forcibly counter the effects of the Draught."

Remus was still aggravated by the decision. He would never want to endanger Harry’s health, but Remus knew from personal experience how painful it was to miss such things. He rather felt it was ill-advised to have allowed Harry to take the potion for so long in the first place, especially as Severus should have anticipated the event and could have weaned the young man beforehand.

Harry broke off his study of the stones beneath his feet to blink at Remus, seeming to struggle with something. It was a long moment before he voiced the question he contemplated.

"How are the Weasleys?" he asked softly.

Remus hesitated to answer, involuntarily remembering the chaos in the hallway outside Albus’ office and the unabated anguish the group had exhibited during the memorial. Remus could still hear Molly’s wails.

"They're dealing as best they can," he informed him solemnly when he was once again able. "Arthur's taken a leave of absence. Bill and Charlie are staying over to help Molly. And of course, she didn't mean what she said to Percy,” he assured him. “That's all sorted, and he's there, as well. Poor Ginny,” he added sadly. “She'd had a knock to the head on the train and has only just woken up a few days ago. She didn't take the news very well."

Remus paused. That scene had been harrowing, too. Ron had been so protective of his little sister, and she had turned to him the most often when matters arose that required a brother. She was still unwell from her ordeal but had to be informed of her sibling’s passing almost as soon as she awoke for her to attend the memorial. The memory made Remus ache, but he noticed Harry was watching him carefully, and he remembered he had intended to comfort him. Though he did not exhibit any behaviour indicative of needing it, surely Harry was secretly distraught. How could he fail to be? He was probably just too overwhelmed to express it.

"The Weasleys are a resilient lot," he assured Harry more confidently than he felt. "They'll come out alright. They have each other."

Harry gave a quiet laugh, and Remus scowled in concern. Harry seemed suddenly bitter. Perhaps he felt alone. Perhaps he envied the support the Weasleys found in each other. But Harry didn’t need to be bitter. Harry was not alone, would never be alone. Remus shifted closer to the young man and draped his hand softly over Harry’s to convey he had a friend in Remus. More, if he wanted. He had a bastion.

"But how are you, Harry?" Remus asked softly.

In answer, Harry turned his hand under Remus' and wrapped his fingers tentatively but insistently around the other man's. Like that morning, the gesture stole Remus’ breath, but he quickly pulled himself together, adding a second hand to the first.

Encouraged, Harry finally answered, "I'm...better," in a whisper to the stone floor. "I just feel so...I don't know," he stumbled, clearly struggling to define his experience. Remus waited patiently for him to find the right words.

"I feel like I don't know who I am anymore," he said. "Everyone treats me like I'm some sort of leper. Like it's dangerous to just be around me. And the professors look at me like they're afraid of me or something. Or like I'm off my head. It's like they don't know what I'm going to do next. And you know?" he said with a desperate little laugh, the words tumbling out of him. "I'm starting to think they're right. All of them. I don't know what I'm going to do next. I don't know how to control..."

He stopped and shook his head as if to dislodge some of the panic that came with the confession.

"I don't know how I did that to Dumbledore's office. What if I do it again, Remus?” he asked, giving Remus a reaching look. Before the man could answer, Harry looked away and rushed to continue as if the words refused to wait.

“And what if it's worse than before? I just get so angry," he said, running his free hand across his face. "There was this boy at breakfast. Remus, I wanted to hurt him," he confessed helplessly, looking at his guardian as if pleading for him to somehow go back in time and take the vile impulse away from him. "What if I had? What if..."

Harry’s voice faded away to silent anguish.

Remus was grateful Harry felt comfortable enough to speak to him so freely, though he was almost overcome by Harry’s turmoil. Remus searched for the words that might comfort the young man, but he did not find them fast enough, and Harry posed another question.

"Remus, how did you...? I mean, I know it was different with you and Sirius than it was with me and Ron," he said quickly, blushing. "But did it help you at all? You know, to find Kreacher?"

The sudden shift of subject, and to one so uncomfortable for the man, surprised Remus. He gently but quickly disentangled his hands from Harry's. His conscience would not allow him to hold the young man with the same hands that had committed the atrocity he now remembered with vivid shame. Remus hadn’t been aware Harry knew about the incident, though of course, it was not a secret, and Remus felt sure it was still muttered about throughout the Order. Harry must not be allowed to follow Remus’ example in this. Remus took a moment to arrange his thoughts on the matter.

"What I did, Harry," Remus began, looking away with a disconsolate shake of his head. "It was a terrible thing to have killed Kreacher. Being a House Elf didn't make him any less-"

"Do you regret it then?" Harry interrupted, almost incredulously. Remus did not trust himself to answer that question honestly. Though he knew all the reasons why he should, he could not bring himself to regret it entirely, and this, as much as the act itself, is what filled him with shame.

"If you feel bad about it, why hang his head in Sirius' room?"

Remus looked at Harry, trying to decide if he would believe what he was about to tell him.

"He asked me to."

Harry seemed predictably shocked. Remus sighed and prepared himself to recount what he’d never wanted to even recall again.

"I hadn't set out to kill Kreacher, Harry," he explained carefully, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands between them. "I'd only meant to retrieve him. His betrayal aside, he had been privy to some very sensitive secrets of the Order. It would have been catastrophic if he'd been allowed to reach Malfoy Manor with an altered allegiance. But I'd neglected to mind the date,” he confessed, his eyes falling closed in self-condemnation, “which was unforgivable. I came to myself just before he..."

Remus paused, wrestling with the memory. Werewolf attacks are grisly affairs, and the pitiful creature whose blood he woke to find staining his hands and face still haunted Remus’ nightmares.

Remus felt Harry’s hand rest on his shoulder, but it did not stay there. It swept down Remus’ back, eliciting an irrepressible shiver that travelled quickly and directly to Remus’ groin. He knew it was meant to comfort, but it did quite the opposite. The lingering pressure on his back seared, but Remus did not want to betray his weakness and could not move to end the contact without giving himself away. Remus drew on whatever reserve of self-control was left to him, took a deep breath, and calmly continued his narrative.

"It was clear he would not survive. So I asked him if he had a final request. Apparently, it had been his lifelong ambition," Remus informed Harry, rapidly collecting himself, "to join his predecessors on the walls of Black Manor. He considered it an honour. But as we'd already begun removing the others and giving them a proper burial, well, it seemed like a difficult case to argue that Kreacher should be the exception. So I hung him in the one room I had some control over. Molly wasn't happy. But Dumbledore is aware of the circumstances. Kreacher won't be disturbed in my absence.”

Harry stared at Remus for a long while as he digested the tale. "Why haven't you told anyone else?" he asked softly. The compassion in his voice was wounding. Remus didn’t feel he deserved it after what he’d done.

He returned Harry’s gaze as steadily as he could. "It was no one else's business," Remus replied plainly.

The situation didn’t change with justifications. Kreacher was dead by Remus’ hand and would reside forever on the wall of Remus’ room in Grimmauld Place in reparation. It was not necessary that anyone know the details beyond those who knew already. Explaining it would have seemed to Remus like he was seeking to shirk his blame in the affair, which he refused to do.

Harry seemed conflicted. As he reflected on what Remus had said, the man took the opportunity to gently remove the hand that was torturing him and trap it gently between his own again. It was still intimate but far more innocent. Though, he could not quite resist the urge to stroke the back of Harry's hand with his thumb.

"Remus, do...do you think I'm dangerous?" Harry asked distractedly. Remus sighed and shook his head, gathering his thoughts.

"Harry, it's perfectly human to feel the impulse toward violence when something precious is taken from you," he confided. "But it is even more human to rise above it. What I did, I did while less than human. Don't feel bad for having the impulse, Harry. Reassure yourself that you did not act on it."

Harry did not reply, and Remus began to feel he was failing miserably in his attempt to console the young man. "Don't let it worry you so much, Harry," Remus urged. "I know who you are even if you don't. You're your father's son. You are strong enough to make it through this. But if ever you aren't convinced, if ever you are just tired of the struggle, I'll always be here for you," he promised with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

Finally, Remus seemed to have said the right thing. Harry appeared overcome by the sentiment and merely nodded.

"Will we be starting our lessons together again soon?" he asked impulsively.

"As soon as you'd like," Remus responded quietly with a smile. Harry returned it and stared at him so steadily, Remus was a little intoxicated by the intensity of it, was hypnotized by the bright green irises that danced surprisingly close to his own.

"Of course," Remus said softly, trying to shake off the spell, "you were meant to meet with Hagrid first thing tomorrow, but he's away unexpectedly. You and I could meet instead, if you'd like," he offered, almost wincing at the blatant hopefulness in his voice.

"Of course!" Harry agreed, so enthusiastically it earned a grateful, affectionate chuckle from Remus. "But where's Hagrid gone?" Harry asked, suddenly anxious. He had reason to be, but he wasn’t to know it yet.

Remus smiled in an apologetic way that meant he wasn't at liberty. "You'll be able to meet with Hagrid again soon enough,” he assured him. “But for now, I think perhaps you should try to get some sleep.” Remus’ stamina was flagging, and they were entirely too close. “I need you to actually retain what I'll be teaching you tomorrow," he explained, patting Harry's hand before finally releasing it. Even though they no longer touched, Remus’ hand still buzzed warmly, his flesh having memorized the feel of the young man’s beneath it.

Harry nodded his acceptance, and Remus stood and waited as Harry retrieved his cloak so he might shepherd him to the door, but Harry hesitated.

"Remus, would it be okay if…? I mean, could I...?"

Harry didn't seem to be able to voice his request, but he leaned toward the man, glancing shyly to the floor as he twisted the cloak in his hands. Remus intuited Harry's need, stepping forward to wrap his ward in a firm embrace.

Harry relaxed into it with a sigh, almost spending the last of Remus’ self-control. It lasted too long and not long enough, and with silent grief, Remus released him and stepped back.

Reluctantly, they wished each other a good night, and then Harry donned his cloak and disappeared through Remus’ door. The man closed it gently but firmly behind him, his hand grasping the knob with white knuckles long after Harry had gone.

Remus' heart seemed to go with Harry. It must have, as Remus felt the cavernous ache in his chest where it used to reside. He rested his forehead against the wooden panel. Despite his confidence in his willpower before Harry’s arrival that night, Remus now understood quite clearly that this battle with his nature would be far, far more difficult than he had ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is painful to read, y'all. I'll be revisiting it soon for a thorough edit.


	81. Successful in the Battles That He Fights

**Before: Remus**

All was right with Remus’ world.

Well, it was not ideal, but he was hopeful if not untroubled. Harry had been visiting nightly just after curfew for tea and conversation, and Remus had stopped fretting over the ethics of it. It did them both good. Harry was allowed to decompress in a safe place, and Remus got to practice pretending he was not incurably smitten. Harry’s comments on his day served to remind Remus how young he was, too, which was a help. Harry might have to occasionally wrestle with bigger questions his peers never had to confront, and it might have aged him beyond his years, but on good days, Harry was just a teenager with teenage problems like homework and lunch fare, the weight of class materials and the discomfort of desk chairs.

Also, though it concerned Remus a little, there seemed to be a budding romance between Harry and Hermione. He’d been shocked but had not commented when he first noticed them walking around the castle arm in arm. Though, how could he criticise it when it seemed to put them both at ease? It seemed a bit soon, but Remus knew all too well that tragedy sometimes acted as a catalyst in these matters, even when objectively it seemed it should put a damper on them. High emotions can be misinterpreted, especially by those with such limited life experience, and Remus suspected it was the warmth and stability, the support they found in one another in this painful time, that they really craved. He merely hoped they would take things slowly until their feelings and motivations sorted themselves out.

It seemed to add yet another layer of unavailability to the young man, as well. It wasn’t as if Remus didn’t have enough reasons already why the two of them could never be, but somehow it helped to have another. Remus was becoming more and more acclimated to his constant longing. He’d had similar unattainable crushes in the past. In fact, his sexual orientation coupled with his lycanthropy often meant most of his attractions were unrequited. He’d weather this one, too. And the duller his desire became, the more easily he could simply enjoy Harry’s company.

And so Remus was settling in at Hogwarts nicely, at last. And to fill his time when not instructing his ward, Albus frequently sent him on small errands for the Order. In fact, the man had just winked from Remus’ floo with his latest request when Remus heard a forceful knock at his door. He answered it apprehensively. It was so early in the day, but the only one who ever visited that way was…

Harry’s face suddenly popped into visibility in front of him, and Remus started.

“You've really got to stop doing that," he chided with a light-hearted smile Harry didn't return. The young man seemed annoyed and didn’t even offer a greeting as he stepped into Remus’ quarters uninvited, tossing a 'sorry' over his shoulder as he passed the threshold.

Remus just watched him, a little taken aback by the discourtesy, but not really bothered. It wasn’t as if he’d have denied the young man entrance.

"By all means, come in," Remus deadpanned jokingly. "Have a seat. Make yourself at home."

"Sorry," Harry repeated, sincerely this time. He tossed his cloak over the arm of the sofa before plopping down on a cushion with a sigh. "And yes,” he winced. “I'm skipping class. Please, just scold me about it later, okay?"

Remus' brow puckered thoughtfully. He could tell the young man had come to talk, and he gently closed the door and then leaned against the frame with his arms folded, waiting patiently.

"Hermione and I had a fight," Harry blurted after only a moment of internal fuming. "Or...I don't know if it was really a 'fight'. We just got on each other's nerves. Or something," he huffed, scrubbing his hands through his hair in a frustrated gesture and then letting them fall to his lap. He looked confused and slightly overwhelmed, but mostly just annoyed.

"Ah," Remus nodded.

The First Fight. It hadn’t taken long, but then they were young and both strong-willed and vocal. Teenage relationships seemed to move at a speed incomprehensible to Remus, but then, he realised the young reckoned time differently. He walked over to perch on the cushion beside Harry and patted him consolingly on the knee.

"It happens, you know,” he reassured. “You have a tiff, you get over it,” he shrugged. “It's normal. Everyone does it eventually."

"We've just never really fought, y'know? We've disagreed. She's scolded. But this felt different. It's...not what we do," Harry said, somewhat confused by his present circumstance.

"Every relationship goes through changes. It's usually a good thing, though it may not seem so at the time. Want to tell me what happened?"

Harry picked sulkily at a loose thread on his cuff. "Nothing, really,” he admitted grudgingly. “It's just, I think she's trying to make friends with Malfoy."

Harry was clearly sour about the development, but Remus couldn’t help but be pleased. He’d heard from Albus that Narcissa was attempting to distance her son from the follies of his father, and the Headmaster had faith in the boy. The worst influences in his life were now absent, and they had an excellent chance at Draco’s rehabilitation. Few things could be more helpful in that process than associating with Harry and Hermione, perhaps the two people at Hogwarts most antithetical to his previous indoctrination.

"Would that really be such a terrible thing?" he asked the young man. Harry looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"You do know who Draco Malfoy is?"

Remus pretended to think about it. "I'm familiar, yes," he nodded.

"Hermione thinks he's changed," Harry complained. "As if he just woke up one morning and decided not to be a complete bloody prat anymore."

"And you don't think that's possible."

Harry gave him a withering look. "That doesn't really happen," he said as if having to break some essential life-lesson to the older man. Remus was careful not to smile.

"Doesn't it, though?" Remus gently challenged, shifting so that they sat side-by-side. He leaned over confidentially. "Have you never had a revelation that changed the way you viewed the world? Changed how you behaved toward others?”

Remus had had many of his own moments of enlightenment, though he understood they weren’t often comfortable. Discovering Severus Snape was spying for the Order was one of the most recent. He couldn’t claim to like the man, but he at least respected him far more now. Though not, he reflected, as much as he should, perhaps. The man really was taking exceptional risks, and those risks ensured the safety of Remus’ godson. He’d have to take care to treat Severus more kindly.

“Remember, Harry, you don't know all of Draco's story. And you're unlikely to if you never give him a chance. Passing judgement is the easiest thing in the world. It takes courage to believe in someone, especially if they've given you reason not to in the past.” Remus paused, but Harry didn’t respond. "I'm not saying you should pass your trust out indiscriminately. But think of the times you've been misjudged,” Remus urged. Surely the young man could understand that, especially considering the breakfast incident the previous week. Remus himself was well familiar with the sting of prejudice. “If you let him, Draco just may surprise you."

It was something Remus still had to remind himself: that Slytherin did not equate inherent evil, even if the traits most often found in that House most easily fostered the susceptibility to it. Harry, however, seemed to be having none of it. But if Remus and Severus could come to an understanding despite their sordid history, Harry could surely do the same with Draco. Remus could tell it was a hard sell, though, by the stubborn set of Harry's bottom lip.

"Listen, believe what you will about Draco. But patch things up with Hermione, will you?" he said, nudging Harry's shoulder with his own, coaxing a small smile from him. Remus couldn’t force tolerance on the young man, but perhaps, if Harry allowed Hermione to lead by example, he’d come around to the idea eventually. "And the sooner the better. They say you should never go to bed angry with someone you love. Whatever this quarrel is about, it isn't important enough to let it come between you, surely."

Harry nodded resignedly. Remus smiled at him, knowing that was all the progress he’d manage at the moment, and patted Harry once on the knee as if all was settled.

“Now, I've got an errand to run for Dumbledore,” he said, rising to his feet and walking to the door. “Should I expect you for tea?" he asked hopefully, throwing a scarf over his cardigan. Harry nodded but then slumped sulkily.

"Does this mean I have to go to Charms now?" he winced. Remus chuckled at his playfully pouting expression.

"We'll let it slide. This time," he added with feigned sternness. "I'll tell Professor Flitwick you were ill."

"I do have a headache," Harry said rather too brightly, earning him a lopsided smile from Remus. The boy was incorrigible. "McGonagall bounced Quaffles off my head for an hour," Harry explained with a shrug.

Remus could picture it perfectly and could not contain his sudden mirth. Harry’s answering smile showed he took no offence at Remus’ laughing at his misfortune.

"I'm sure I have something for your head,” Remus said, striding over to pull a phial of medicine from his desk drawer. “You should head back to Gryffindor and lie down, though."

Harry groaned. "Can't I just lie down here?" he asked hopefully, indicating the sofa.

Remus' smile faded. He really felt he was tempting fate enough as it was by allowing the young man to visit in the evenings. Allowing him to nap on his couch, even when Remus was not in, might be crossing one line too many. Then he thought about coming back home to find the young man still sleeping and having the opportunity to stare at him freely without discovery or judgement...and also about all the inappropriate impulses the exercise might inspire. It was suddenly imperative to Remus that such a thing not be allowed to happen.

"And how are you supposed to make up with Hermione from my sofa?” he asked, forcing a smile. “Go on now, Harry," he said, pressing the phial of headache cure into Harry's palm. "I'm leaving anyway. You can tell me how it went this evening."

Harry was demonstratively reluctant, but he pulled himself up and stuffed his cloak into the pocket of his jumper.

"Thanks, Remus," he said, giving him a quick hug. The gesture seemed more teasing and uncomfortable each time he allowed it, but Remus craved it, and Harry drew strength from it, and so Remus pretended he was not bothered.

"Anytime, Harry," he said warmly, patting him on the shoulder as he urged him out the door. "Like I told you before, I'm always here for you."


	82. For These Slips Have Made Him Noted Long

**Before: Remus**

“There you are,” Remus said warmly, standing aside to allow Harry entry. “I missed you last night.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the young man replied weakly. He seemed despondent, and Remus watched worriedly as he shuffled inside. Harry didn't even make it to the couch. He stopped drifting halfway there and stood dejectedly in the middle of the room.

Concerned, Remus came beside him and draped a hand on his shoulder, drawing Harry's attention. The young man’s expression was aching.

“Harry, what's happened?” Remus asked softly, his eyes reflecting Harry's sadness. He knew the young man had been serving detention with Severus, and he’d suspected it had led to Harry’s absence the night before. If he thought for a moment the man had been abusive, Remus would certainly be paying him a visit to ‘discuss’ things. But as nasty as Severus could be, Harry rarely let his professor bother him to this degree.

Remus took Harry gently by both shoulders to look down on him, trying to work out the nature of his turmoil. Without answering, Harry ducked his head to let it rest in the centre of Remus' chest. The gesture was surprisingly touching and upsetting. Harry seemed so vulnerable. Remus responded by wrapping his arms protectively around him and drawing him closer. Harry sighed wearily and allowed himself, arms hanging at his sides, to be held.

“Everything's all wrong, Remus,” he mumbled plaintively into the man’s shirt.

Remus stroked Harry's hair before drawing back to see tears standing in Harry's eyes. The sight tugged at Remus’ heart and threatened to draw tears from him as well. This was not Severus’ doing, but whatever had happened, it obviously called for tea.

“Come and sit down,” he insisted, pushing Harry gently in the direction of the sofa before he bustled over to retrieve the tray which now sat ready and waiting for them by this time every evening. He wrapped Harry's hand around a steaming cup of it before carefully sitting beside him, waiting for Harry to decide he was ready to speak.

It didn’t take him long. “Remus, what do you do when someone you care about,” he began hesitantly to the contents of his teacup, “when you don't feel the same way about each other?”

Remus’ heart sank. He had feared their romance was rushed and ill-advised. After all, Ron and Hermione had been a couple, after a fashion. Phineas had reported their mostly innocent but curious and ardent attention to one another over the summer. Even if they hadn’t gotten past the kissing stage, they were still amorous. Remus suspected Harry and Hermione had simply been hurt and grasping and had misunderstood their needs, though trust Hermione to work it out so quickly. Remus scowled lightly in sympathy, slipping his hand over Harry's wrist.

“Is this about Hermione?” he asked. Harry glanced over and nodded. Remus sighed, hating that one of the young man’s first romantic attachments had to come to this and so soon after his loss. “You know, Harry, she probably just needs more time,” Remus began carefully. “And perhaps you should take it slowly, as well. I know this is a confusing time. Grief can be mistaken for any number of different emotions,” he explained, feeling a smidge hypocritical. “Perhaps what you're feeling isn't what you think it is.”

Harry turned a puzzled look to his guardian. “No. It's...it's the other way around,” he explained quietly.

“Oh!” Remus exclaimed softly. “Oh, I see.”

Though he didn't immediately, and he needed a moment to process it. The two really were an excellent match. More so than Ron and Hermione, if they were honest. Hermione was lovely, both as a person and prettier with each passing day. That Harry was interested but Hermione was still in mourning had seemed the most logical explanation. What, then, might be implied by the reverse?

Remus noticed his fingers tightening on Harry’s wrist as he pondered, and he removed them, suddenly self-conscious of the touch and his lingering desire for it.

“I hate that I hurt her feelings,” Harry went on. Remus was still distracted, reflecting on the situation, but forced himself to drag his attention back to his ward. “But I don't know what to do that won't make things worse. And I need her, too,” Harry said, clearly hurting himself. “Just not in the same way.”

Remus considered him for a moment before replying. How well he knew what Hermione must be feeling.

“It's a hard situation,” Remus sighed softly. He took a deep breath and shook his head, unable to look at Harry as he spoke. “There's not really a solution. Time makes things easier. Or, well,” he shrugged sadly, studying the rug beneath his feet, “she'll eventually learn how to deal with it. It may never go away, but you figure out how to get on with things, anyway.”

But Remus wasn’t sure he was being sincere. No matter how many times he found himself in this situation, he never seemed to really deal with it. Or at least, it didn’t feel as if he did, not successfully. Each moment was always a conscious struggle not to ruin what little he was allowed.

He was struggling even as they spoke, feeling himself slipping into the quicksand of his longing, when he felt Harry reach over and place his hand over the ones Remus clasped together between his knees to squeeze the knot of fingers firmly. Remus looked up, startled by the touch, thrown off balance by the thoughts it had interrupted, and locked eyes with Harry.

“Thank you, Remus. For always being here for me. And I'm here for you, too,” he told him, his voice surprisingly fickle. “Just so you know.”

For a moment, Remus got lost in Harry’s green eyes, in their compassion and openness. He berated himself for allowing himself to entertain his pain when Harry had come to have his own assuaged. But bless the young man for being kind enough to set his aside to comfort Remus; even if doing so inadvertently sharpened what the young man sought to soothe.

Remus swallowed hard, and the hands beneath Harry's trembled slightly. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Harry,” he rasped, genuinely grateful. He was a wonder, and if the man had any doubt about the sincerity of his feelings for the young man, Harry was gently but relentlessly removing them. Remus reminded himself of their situation and was almost swallowed whole by his despair, but he forced a smile anyway.

“But don't you worry about me,” Remus told him. “Now, what do you say we drink this before it gets cold?” He quickly patted Harry's hand and then pulled his away with effort, occupying both of his own with a cup of tea to resist the urge to touch the boy.

“So just leave it, then?” Harry asked. Remus was still preoccupied and didn’t immediately understand his question. “The thing with Hermione,” Harry clarified. “It'll work out alright, won't it?”

“I can't imagine it not,” Remus assured him. “A friendship as strong as yours can surely weather a little thing like this.”

 _A little thing like this._ Remus dearly hoped Hermione was a stronger and more resilient person than he was.


End file.
